


Doctor 40k

by AllanIV



Category: Doctor Who, Warhammer 40.000
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-04-13 21:57:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4538892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllanIV/pseuds/AllanIV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an ongoing story about the Doctor being transported to the 40k universe and having to deal with those inhabitants, starting with the Imperial Guard and Tyranids. I'm writing it in my spare time as stress relief from other projects so updates will be intermittent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Box

He was The Doctor.  
“What are you doing?” Clara shouted. The Doctor, dressed in his iconic gentleman's suit that properly contrasted his old grey hair, had her by one arm as he marched her out of his oversized blue box.  
“Something I should have done a long time ago.” He grumbled, and with one move tossed her onto the curb. She gave a tiny yelp as she hit the ground, bouncing a little as she slapped her hands on the pavement behind her. Almost belated to the fact that he'd just flipped her onto the street, The Doctor grumbled at her with the rather pointless statement, “You! Out!”  
“Are you throwing me out?”  
“Yes,” he hissed. “I'm throwing you out.”  
“Why?”  
“Because I need a break, a break, and you, you need a break.” He shouted pointedly into the streets of London.  
“A break?” Clara stammered. “What do you mean a break? Are you saying you're sick of me?”  
“No, if I were sick of you I'd say so. I'm saying you need a break.” He looked around  
“You said that you need a break.”  
“You! Me! You and me! We need a break!”  
Clara leapt to her feet, pulling that expression. The look spoke indigence and barely pent up anger, the perfect couple to The Doctor's own Glaswegian voice of frustration. The dress she wore, pretty and blue, was strained by a streak of muck from the curb. Not that she had noticed of course, even though The Doctor's eyes stared right at it. He pulled a face of disgust.  
“And for that you're throwing me out?” She snapped at him. The Doctor groaned.  
“Not are throwing, have thrown, see how you've been thrown.” He said, gesturing widely at the curb and the muck on her dress.  
“Oh no, you don't get to throw me out of here,” she retorted and stepped into his personal space, not even noticing his obvious gesture at her dress. He rolled his eyes.  
“Oh please, I can throw you out of whatever I want.”  
“Oh no you can't.”  
“My TARDIS, my rules!” He shouted back at her.  
It was at about that moment that Clara noticed where they were. This wasn't some quiet alley or backstreet. This was St Martin's Street. This was St Martin's Street on Leicester Square. That was Westminster Reference Library, and that was Leicester Square Restaurant. The Doctor had thrown her out in Leicester Square, and there were people everywhere.  
“Doctor, this is Leicester Square,” she muttered. Flushing a distinct shade of pink under her make up, she moved to hide her face under her fringe. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he turned his back on her and headed for the police box.  
“Hey!” She shouted, forgetting momentarily about the crowd of onlookers. She jumped between him and the door. Pressing her backside against the wall she slammed her palm across the threshold. The Doctor sighed.  
“Didn't I just finish telling you? You're taking a break.”  
Clara's eyes were full of energy now. The truth had finally dawned on her.  
“This is about that thing, isn't it?” She asked inquisitively.  
“No, it's not.” The Doctor responded. He reached out to move her by the shoulder but this time she resisted.  
“You're lying.” She retorted. She pressed her back firmly against the TARDIS wall.  
“No, I'm not.”  
“Yes you are.”  
“No I'm n-” he groaned. “This is ridiculous.”  
“Yes it is.” Clara had her arms crossed now. She was staring at him, waiting for an explanation. He gave her a look.  
“Move.” He ordered.  
“No.”  
He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Fine,” he grunted, then he dropped down and grabbed her by the legs.  
“Hey!” She shouted, but before she could stop him he had her over his shoulder and walking towards a parking lot. “Put me down,” she grumbled, punching him in the back. He didn't flinch.  
“I'm sorry Clara,” he said as he whipped out his sonic screwdriver. “But this one I want to do on my own.” It made its electronic, whistling hum.  
“You are not sorry!” He opened the now unlocked car door.  
“You're right.” He said, then dropped her into the car.  
“DOCTOR!” She shouted, but it was too late, he'd already shut the door. Another brief high-pitched whistle and he'd locked it.  
“Now, you just stay right here and...”  
Clara opened another door and clambered out of the automobile.  
“Oh for Pete's sake,” he groaned. “Would you just stay out of the way?”  
“Why are you lying to me.” Clara stated, rounding the car to stride directly in front of his face.  
The Doctor tensed his jaw. “I'm not lying.”  
“There you did it again.” She crossed her arms. The Doctor leaned forward, arcing his chin so that he could pronounce each syllable with grumpy precision.  
“No, I, didn't.”  
Clara tilted her head to one side. “Then why did you put me in that car?”  
“To get you, out, of the way.”  
“Why do you want me out of the way?”  
He threw his hands up in front of him, gesturing firmly toward her. “This?! You see this? How am I supposed to get any work done around this?”  
“Hasn't stopped you before.” Clara scoffed.  
“All I ask, is for a bit of private time for myself, and you get all stuck up and huffy.” The Doctor paced around her.  
“Huffy?”  
“Yes, huffy.” The Doctor grumbled. “Demanding things, shouting, being infuriating! Asking questions! I've had enough of it, I want a break.”  
“You've said that.”  
“Have I?! Because I also remember throwing you out of the TARDIS!”  
“If you want me to go just say it.” Clara retorted. The Doctor seemed taken aback by her statement. His eyes were flared wide, his nostrils too. For a moment, he looked like a bull who'd just seen a red flag crossed with a deer in headlights. Clara remembered the old storytelling adage of seeing the cogs turning in a person's skull to represent their thoughts, on The Doctor it looked like the cogs had halted. He'd stumped him. She'd never done that before.  
“Fine, yes,” he sputtered after he regained his voice. “I want you to go.” He said.  
Clara blinked. “What?”  
“Of course, too good to be true. Look, I've got to do this thing on my own, just for a bit, a week or so, my time, and then I'll be right back before you know you it, in fact,” he looked around hurriedly, “I'll come back right here, before you know it.”  
“Doctor?” Clara uttered suspiciously, but by then The Doctor was already jubilantly walking back toward his TARDIS.  
“Right, before you know it!” He repeated again. There was the sound of triumph in his voice. The kind of proud triumph that only The Doctor could manage. Clara gave a curious look.  
“Doctor, what is that thing?” It was a question she knew she'd never get an answer to.  
“Right before you know it!” He shouted again as he strode towards the TARDIS. Clara stood there, unknowingly agape, as the now – almost skipping – doctor stepped right up to the blue box, grabbed a hold of the door handle, and turned around.  
“Oh and by the way, you should clean that muck off your dress.”  
By the time she spotted the muck The Doctor had already stepped inside his time and space machine. The door closed, and three loud resonating throbs later it was gone. Looking up from her dress, Clara watched the bits of dust and papers scatter from the box's departure. With an audible and cross sigh, she leaned against the car, crossed her arms, and waited.

 

The door slammed shut and The Doctor breathed. He was exhaling quite heavily, why was that? “Well that was bracing,” he spoke to no one in particular. The TARDIS, well known to be bigger on the inside, gave a solo hum in agreement. The Doctor slapped his hands together and gave them a rub. “Now, on to some proper business.”  
He leapt onto the platform and began fiddling with switches on the console. With a dramatic slam on a certain button, a compartment opened in the side of the console with pincer like tongs sticking out. Another button slam and from a secret trapdoor a small elevator pushed up from underneath, atop of which was a small object of alien technology to the TARDIS. It was a rather large black and orange box with strange bright antennae sticking out in all places, and a series of wires in an assortment of colours spilling about from an opening on top. On one side there was a small red button surrounded by a small yellow circle.  
“Now,” The Doctor muttered, dropping down to his knees to properly study it. “What are you?”  
The box didn't react to his presence. A slam of a button later and the TARDIS began to activate. The pincer-like tongs reached out and grasped it on either side, flickering with a series of coloured lights as they scanned and integrated with the box's systems. The box continued to not react. A flick of a lever and a short scramble of fingers later and The Doctor picked up a small microphone from off the console.  
“Facts.” The Doctor started. “The box is constructed with materials not native to this universe, and the design is most definitely extra dimensional, also fact, the box itself is trans-dimensional meaning it can exist in multiple states at multiple times, if so these wires probably connect to something that exists in another universe meaning it could be damaged and I'd never know about it.”  
He flicked the wires with a sigh of resignation. The console began to boop and The Doctor looked up.  
“TARDIS scan confirms that the box is at least as old as the universe, but a specific age of the box is unverifiable, initial suggestions are that it is older than Time Lord technology.” The Doctor paused. He looked at the box for a moment. “Also fact, the creators have no sense of colour co-ordination.”  
Questions began pouring through The Doctor's head. Strange questions, elusive questions. He began pacing back and forth, picking through the questions. He honed in on one.  
“So, if not the Time Lords who could have created it?” He considered. “Only something capable of passing through multiple dimensions of space, that rules out Daleks. Cybermen. Vampires maybe. The Archons never progressed further than time travel.” He paused, a curious expression that slightly increased the wrinkles on his face. “It could be some kind of hybrid technology, some kind of multi-cultural combination made by Eternals...” He dropped down to one knee, leaned right in, considering the possibility. He thought for a moment. “Scratch that, they're idiots.”  
He went back to pacing the room. Scratching his chin while he thought. Suddenly he snapped his fingers together and pointed at the box. “It could be something built by several creatures through multiple dimensions of space, if so it could be any combination of possibilities and guessing is practically useless.” He paced up to the box still thinking. “Though that would explain the terrible aesthetics.”  
He slapped both hands on the console. “Useless conjecture!” He shouted. He spun around and wrapped both hands around the back of his head. Groaning with frustration he clenched his hair and fought to keep his anger in check. Thoughts were still flooding in about where it had come from, who could have made it, why whoever made it went with such a pathetic design choice?! After several moments of the thoughts tearing apart his head, a new one entered his mind.  
“Question.” He uttered. “What does it do?”  
The box gave no response. A gleeful grin crept onto The Doctor's pallid face.  
“Only one way to find out.”  
He pushed the button.


	2. Gentle Landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, The Doctor rockets into the 41st Millenium, leaving everything familiar behind and finding himself dumped in the middle of a warzone, and we meet the first of his companions.

Gentle Landing

It was a battlefield unlike any other. Guns were firing. Bright lights flashed as lasers fired across a craterous plain. The sounds of hot plasma, heavy ammunition and the occasional whistle of an infantry rocket dominated the sounds of the starless night. The clouds above were alight with the sounds of battle and explosions. Every now and then something would pierce the thick veil as parachuting men or a piece of debris came rocketing down, or sometimes something else.  
Actually, it was like every other, Warren thought to himself, it was just that this was the first one he'd seen. They said the expected survival rate of being on the front line was one thousand to one. He supposed that was why the Imperium often sent thousands of men onto the front line every day. Still, here was the last place he expected to be.  
There was a snarl from off to his left. A bestial call like something out of one of the briefing videos. He spun around to open fire, but all he saw was the hot flashes of the soldiers next to him pouring their own las fire into its direction. There was a series of loud booms as the autocannon on the parapet above theirs opened fire, launching high calibre shells into the air. By the time the light from the lascannons cleared whatever it was they'd been shooting at had been thoroughly obliterated.  
Warren's chest heaved. That was close. Far too close. His ears were ringing from the sound of the explosive shells that had detonated so close to his face. Off in the distance, another explosion in the clouds was followed by large pieces of starship debris dropping to the ground. Something big had been hit. He hoped it hadn't been their evac.

 

“Blasted time travelling piece of junk!” The Doctor shouted at the console.  
The TARDIS whirred noisily.  
“Alright, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” He shouted. Another explosion struck the hull, jerking him sideways. “It's not my fault you popped out in a bloody warzone.” There was a screeching on one side of the ship, as if something were trying to tear the ship apart. Another boom, louder than the last. The Doctor engaged the internal recoil absorption controls just before he got tossed halfway across the room like a rag-doll in a carry-case again.  
The TARDIS whirred at him again.  
“I don't know what you're trying to tell me!” He shouted furiously as he rushed around console, flicking switches, yanking levers and hammering buttons, “And even if I did-”  
A panel flipped open on one side of the console. Underneath was the button that activated the defensive shields.  
“Ah,” The Doctor said sheepishly. Another boom struck the side of the ship. The screeching on the hull continued. He pressed the button.  
Almost immediately the sound of screeching stopped. The explosions continued but faded from loud booms to a low murmur. For the first time The Doctor felt he could breathe.  
“TARDIS,” he spoke exhaustedly. “Take us down to the planet.”

 

The noise of the autocannon opening fire on something else close to the wall filled Warren's ears like no other. It wasn't that it was loud, no, it wasn't just that it was loud. It echoed. Lasguns like the one Warren was using didn't echo. While Warren pumped lasfire into the distance, the sound of every explosive shell exiting that muzzle bounced off every wall, floor and plate of flak armour between here and the now overrun craters in the distance. This was it, Warren thought to himself, too much of the enemy had gotten through the blockade of ships in the sky. Every man on this wall was going to die. The message had just come through the Vox, the evac ship had been smashed out of the sky by a foreign vessel. They were going to die. They were going to die. They were going to-  
“Incoming!”  
The shout came from somewhere in the squad, was it Levin? Instinctively Warren looked up, expecting to see a hulking piece of flaming debris, hot from the fires of descent, rocketting unstoppably down from the sky toward them.  
He blinked. By the Emperor's balls. What was that blue thing? It can't have been much more than a few metres tall and wide, not much more than a box. Either way it was hurtling toward them at a tremendous speed. Over his shoulder he heard the booming voice of Sergeant Hildritch begin.  
“Autocannon! Open fire on that blue thing!”  
Almost immediately the autocannon tore through a magazine of explosive shells that arced through the air and smashed into the side of the blue container. A moment after they hit the box spun sidewards, veering off its collision course and towards the crater-filled ground below. The air that had gotten caught in Warren's chest found an opportune moment to gain their release. He felt a cheer getting ready to escape out of his lungs.  
Suddenly the blue thing changed course again. What? Warren gaped. The autocannon had stopped firing, it was changing course on its own. It spun in the air and changed course again, this time heading straight to a patch of land untarnished by crater. Warren's eyes bulged. That thing was a landing craft.  
“Sir, that thing is landing!” He readied his lasgun, pointing it toward the blue thing.  
“What?” Sergeant Hildritch snapped, his booming voice sounding like an order regardless of intention. The gun shook in Warren's hands as he attempted to focus on the landing.  
“Sir, should we open fire again?” Wen on the autocannon asked.  
No order came out of the sergeant's mouth. In a fit of fear, Warren glanced over, half expecting to see Hildritch being torn apart by some alien monstrosity. Hildritch was just standing there, paralysed with indecision.  
“Hey look!”  
Warren glanced down at the blue thing. A door had opened on the side of the vessel – not a hatchway but a door, and a civilian looking one at that. Out of it stepped a man in a brown suit clearly not dressed for war. Warren couldn't believe it.  
“Sir, someone's coming out, it's a civilian.” He said.  
“Maybe it's a new kind of drop pod.” Levin posited.  
“Maybe it's a marine,” someone else spoke. Even from this distance Warren could almost hear Wen's jaw drop.  
“Holy Terra, we just opened fire on a space marine.”  
Hildritch was still paralysed to the spot. “Sir?” Warren asked concernedly. Hildritch looked at him. The look in his eyes were the same as in the seconds before Hildritch barked an order, but no words were coming out. Emperor's blessing. Warren swallowed.  
“First fire team, prepare for rescue,” he spoke. He glanced at the sergeant, hoping desperately for some kind of back up, or an order to stand down. Not a word.  
“What?” Levin spoke in disbelief. Warren prepared himself.  
“You heard me, bring the plasma gun and the Vox for coms,” he ordered. He glanced to the others in his squad who were all packing their extra ammo into their belts.  
“Wha- Sergeant!” Levin yelled. Finally Hildritch stirred from his reverie.  
“You heard your corporal! Arm up!” Hildritch barked. As Warren stood, Hildritch planted a hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure you want to do this?”  
“We have to do something,” he replied.  
Hildritch nodded. “When the commissar finds out it's on your head, you got that?”  
He concealed a wince. That was the last thing he wanted to hear. Against the pounding in his chest he nodded, accepting his fate should he make it back and the commissar hear of it. He felt his stomach twist and turn as he turned to face the embankment wall. Suddenly that barrier that had been a wall between him and the outside world seemed little more than a flimsy road-block.  
He glanced over his squad. Iris had taken the Vox and was strapping in the last of the ammunition. Benny, rogue that he was, was kneeling up against the wall in a readied position. Levin was on the plasma, of course, trembling nervously. Curtis was in position, prepared to leap the wall at a moment's notice. They were ready.  
Warren breathed. “Let's go.”

 

The Doctor stared out over the blasted landscape. Here it was, the product of stupid, bloody destruction. Nothing but dust, death, scorched earth and broken bits of whatever it was that had been here before, and a city with walls so high that it looked like it was in perpetual lockdown. Another flash of light above his head drew his attention. Like thunder the rumble of explosion came some seconds after. Oh yes, and that fitting backdrop. He tried to sigh, it emerged as a cough.  
In that brief moment, a thousand odd quips and derogatives passed through his conscious thoughts. Picking his favourites from the list, he opened his mouth to speak.  
“Well then,” He began. “Isn't that just...” but as he spun back toward the open TARDIS, he realised no one was standing there to hear him. He let out an exasperated grunt. Great. A thousand words, wasted on nothing but acrid smelling, dust riddled air. Oh he wished Clara was here.  
He started feeling a pressure in his head. It was like a heavy throb, beating at one side of his skull. “Ow,” he muttered, again to no one in particular. He slapped one hand against his temple and winced. “Ow!” He said, much more emphatically. “So much for the old slap it and make it go away trick.”  
A bestial snarl, angry, somewhere close. Hungry. Hostile. The Doctor spun about, panicked sweat streaming down his face. He scanned the landscape for sign of movement. He saw some, not too far away, crawling about amongst the craters. Distinctly inhuman shapes sliding, lurking. As his eyes adjusted to the haze, he struggled to focus, but every time he thought he could see it seemed like a new haze just lifted upwards to obscure it. Still, there was something out there. Snatching up his sonic screwdriver he pointed it in the direction of the mist.  
The sonic screwdriver's familiar whistling took up the space in his memory where the bestial snarl had taken moments before. He began listening closely for its fluctuating tone.  
“Signs of life...” He muttered, “Mostly organic...” He waved the screwdriver around, pointing it at the craters and ship debris all around him. It hummed and whistled as it translated the metric distance of the life forms from him. “Well that's nice, no sudden visitors.” The sarcasm reeked out of his voice so strongly even he wasn't sure which part of it was sarcasm.  
He rubbed his temple again. That throbbing in the side of his skull hadn't abated, if anything it was getting stronger. On the plus side it was quickly fading into the background of his thoughts, just like everything else about the scenery. Everything here bore the signs of war, it wasn't exactly something he wanted to look at much longer. Everywhere was dust, and broken earth, and littered shells of ammunition and...  
“Hey!” The voice came from behind the Doctor in the direction of the city. Spinning about he saw five figures approaching. One of them, clearly their leader, was waving in his direction.  
The Doctor squinted. The haze wasn't so terrible in the direction of the city, he could make them out clearly. Five men, some dark skinned, some pale, were running up to him, frantically watching their surroundings. One of them, carried some device in his right hand that he was speaking into – some kind of communicator no doubt, another who stood up near the back carried some kind of oversized tube in both hands that seemed made of nothing but coils. The Doctor pointed his screwdriver at them. It lit up and whistled at his touch. They were human. And carrying guns.  
The Doctor clicked his fingers. The TARDIS door slammed shut. Friends or enemies they might be, but gun-toting military-goons they certainly were, and there was them get their grubby hands on the inside of his TARDIS.  
“Oh great,” he spoke as he stepped forward to confront them, “The welcoming committee.” A thousand thoughts passed through his head. “Are you here to interrogate me or just shoot me?”  
“We're here to rescue you, Iris, Curtis, secure the landing site, Benny, take Levin and check out the other side.” Warren spoke.  
“Fuck that! I'm not going over there!”  
“Do it!” Warren shouted. Reluctantly the man with the coils followed the other gunman off to the side.  
“You didn't answer my question,” The Doctor interjected, eyeing the two who were leaving around his TARDIS very carefully.  
“We're the rescue mission,” Warren spoke. “We saw your drop pod landing, is there anyone else in there or is it just you?”  
The Doctor looked at him. Warren had tanned skin and a wide expression. By his guess he might be entering into his forties or something. He had a command rank on his shoulder, and thick multi-layered armour that looked like something out of a science-fiction movie. Something about what he'd said seemed odd.  
“Drop pod?” The Doctor asked confusedly.  
“Your vessel, we thought you were just debris at first, are you hurt?”  
The Doctor turned and looked at the TARDIS. He felt her staring right back at him. He turned back to mister leader with an expression on his face.  
“You thought she was debris?”  
“Is there anyone else in there?” Warren spoke. The Doctor leaned forward.  
“What do you mean you thought she was debris?”  
Warren found himself suddenly on the back foot, he took a cautious step backwards, griping his weapon tightly.  
“You were spiralling down out of control, we didn't think you were-”  
“This is the most sophisticated ship in the entire universe!” The Doctor spoke, gesturing back at his vessel. “And you thought it was debris?”  
“Look, is there anyone else in there with you?”  
“Answer my question!” The Doctor snapped.  
For a moment, Warren's cheeks were puffed like an angry fish, but a moment of tension later he heaved out a sigh resignedly. “Yes, I thought she was debris, is there anyone else in the vessel?”  
The Doctor scowled at him.  
“Is that standard protocol for you lot? You see something big and blue that you don't recognise and you assume it must just be some piece of junk?”  
“No, actually, to be perfectly honest we thought you might be some kind of a space marine, but when you didn't come out as an eight foot tall giant we figured it must be something else, now is there anyone else in there with you?”  
“Sir, perimeter is clear we're good to go,” Benny replied as he stepped back from around the ship.  
“She's in pretty bad shape though,” Levin said. “Looks like something nearly ripped a hole into her side.”  
“What?” The Doctor replied. For a moment he stood there, confused at what he'd just heard. Then the memory rushed back at him. The screeching hull. The outside explosions. The patter of ammunitions fire. The TARDIS! Turning on his heel he ran around the TARDIS, looking at her for signs of the damage she must have taken. The battering she must have taken! Surely there'd be no sign of...  
“Oh, no no no no no!”  
All across one side black lines, split timber and patches of burnt wood marked where she had been struck by lasfire. Here there was damage from some explosion, there the cinders of where las-blast had slashed across the side. On one corner unexploded shells had lodged themselves into the timber, still smoking from entry, across another black patches were strewn about like pox-scars. Splinters of broken wood where something had torn across the back wall and raked across the side.  
The Doctor grabbed the sides of his head and yelled in frustration, thumping his knee with his fist, screaming words in a language none of the others could recognise. He ran over to one of the slash marks, touching it gingerly. His fingers sank halfway to the knuckle.  
The Doctor winced. He could feel the TARDIS' pain as if it were his own. How? How could it have taken him so long to check this? Why didn't he raise the shields sooner? Why didn't he stop this? Why did he touch that box in the first place? Why? Why?!  
Warren watched The Doctor for a moment, his heart wrenching as he watched the old man falling apart over his broken ship. He was torn, they didn't have time with this, but to pull him away while he was grieving, it seemed so heartless, so cruel, so...  
The Doctor's head turned. “Did you do this?  
The question took Warren so completely by surprise that at first he didn't realise it had come from The Doctor's lips. “Pardon?” He asked politely.  
“Did you do this?!” He snapped. The Doctor was advancing on him, the breeze that had picked up blowing the tails of his jacket so they appeared as the tail-wings on some demon. Warren lifted his gun up in his defence.  
“Hey hey, take it easy.” He said cautiously. Benny and Iris lifted their guns up also. Levin took a step back, gun distinctly pointed down. Curtis continued monitoring the perimeter.  
The Doctor thrust his finger up at the sky. “Someone was firing on my ship up there, who was it?!”  
“I don't know!” Warren shouted. “We can't exactly see what's going on above the clouds from here!” He glanced around. “We need to get moving! This area is not safe!”  
“I'm not going anywhere until I've repaired my ship!” The Doctor replied. He turned and began walking back to his ship.  
“Your ship is dead!” Warren shouted.  
That caught The Doctor's attention. He spun around, face taught with rage, every fibre of his being seething with hatred. Cold dark venom in his eyes.  
“My TARDIS, is not dead,” He replied. He turned and moved back to the TARDIS' injured wall.  
“Fine, but we will be if we stay out here!” Warren shouted.  
“Movement, two eighty degrees,” Curtis muttered.  
“Guns ready,” he whispered in reply.  
Over by the TARDIS The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and began scanning its wounds. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he repeated, again and again. As listened to the medical hum he imagined what it felt like to feel every injury, how much pain she must have taken to hold herself together. When he finished scanning he pressed his head against one of the jagged trails carved into the side of his ship and opened his psyche up, reaching out telepathically to the TARDIS, calling to her, shielding her from the pain.  
Warren glanced around them. The haze over the craters was getting thicker. Reports from HQ said haze like this was manufactured haze, and poisonous. The breeze was bringing it toward them. “Sir, I know this is hard for you right now, but we have to go.”  
“Let's just leave him,” Levin muttered.  
“You, shut up right now, and keep focus on those craters.”  
“We need to move.” Curtis muttered, eyes darting back and forth over the craters.  
“Alright, you start backing up slowly,” Warren muttered. “Sir? Sir?”  
The Doctor recoiled. He'd moved his cheek across the surface of one of those cuts and felt something jagged against the side of his face. He slapped it, then realised the sensation wasn't coming from him, it was transferring psychically from the TARDIS. He pulled away from his embrace for a better look, maintaining the connection with his hand, tracing for the source of the hurt. His fingers fell over one particular scar and he felt the pain get hotter and hotter. He could see it, a dark shape embedded inside the wound. Reaching in, he wrapped his fingers around the thing and tried to wrench it out. It didn't move. Letting loose a deep breath he tightened his core and pulled. He felt it wriggle, and the TARDIS' pain wringing in his head. “Hold it together!” He shouted, and began pulling at it again. After several hard yanks he pried it loose.  
The Doctor stared at the thing in awe for a moment. It was some kind of shrapnel, but not made of any kind of metal he recognised. Whatever it was it was roughly the size of his wrist. It almost looked like a fang, or the nail off some kind of claw. What was this doing embedded in space battle wounds? The Doctor glanced over the other scars, looking for other injuries like this.  
Over by his squad, Warren's eyes were scanning over the horizon. “Listen, we need to go,” He called again. “If we stay here any longer the fog is going to reach us, it's poisonous, and if it gets over here that will be the least of our worries.” Benny stood to his left, Curtis behind him and to his right. Levin and Iris had already pulled back several metres, each of them looking ready to break into a sprint at any moment.  
The Doctor, holding the tooth or hook in his hand, turned toward them. His head was down, pulling a contemplative expression as he studied the object. “If that's the least of our worries,” he began as he began stepping in their direction. “What would be the greatest?”  
“That would be the tyranids,” Benny replied. Warren nodded.  
The Doctor looked up at them puzzled. For the first time since they'd met Warren saw a look that was not angry or despairing, but genuinely perplexed.  
“Tyranids,” The Doctor asked. “What are tyranids?”  
Oh Holy Terra. Warren thought. Oh Holy Terra he doesn't know.  
It was at that moment that a bestial growl carried over the breeze. Soldier's heads spun. Guns were raised, laser sights pointed. There, standing on the lip of one of the nearby craters, was the creature from their nightmares. At first it was difficult to see, its mottled chitinous armour blending so well into the blasted landscape that if it weren't for the bone white of its underside they might not have seen it at all. Then its features came shockingly into view. Teeth, and an evil grinning jawline that stretched back down to the neck. Skinless ribs of a bone-hard exoskeleton. A tail that stretched backwards half the length of its body. It leaned heavily forward, staring at them with hungry intent, pink tongue lolling out of its mouth. Its front legs curled into a single clawed talons that occasionally dug itself into the ground. Its arms ended in a strange, conical gun-like contraption, that from his current angle seemed to be infused with the creature itself. Had it been standing upright, it would have been taller than any man present. In the moments before the lasguns opened fire, lighting up the creature with a dozen lethal precision-burns, the Doctor saw the things eyes settle on him. Cold, pupiless, insect eyes.  
The creature screamed as lasfire ripped through its body, tearing at its armour and skeletal form with impunity as it thrashed against the pain. One shot smashed into its sternum, another sliced through its leg dropping it to one knee. Finally a burst from Levin's gun burst through the underside of its jaw, smashing in one side and coming out through the side of its face. It slumped forward, landing in a heap, the infused gun in its arms releasing a small torrent of grubs at the earth below it.  
“Damn it Levin! Hold fire!” Warren shouted. “That thing will overheat if you fire too much plasma at once.”  
“Don't you think I don't know that?!” Levin shouted back.  
“If it explodes we'll all be dead!”  
“If I don't shoot we'll all be dead!”  
“Oh shit,” Iris whispered. “Oh shit, oh shit.”  
“I take it that's a tyranid,” the Doctor interrupted loudly. His patience had already been tried several times today, he was starting to feel the calm that came with going full circle.  
“Yes,” Warren replied, “That's a tyranid, can we please go now.”  
“Just wait a moment,” the Doctor muttered. He pulled out the screwdriver, felt its comforting hum between his fingers, and scanned the shredded husk.  
“Sir, we need to move,” Curtis reported. “Those ones always move in packs.”  
“There's probably more behind that lip,” Benny added.  
“If there were more the autocannon on the wall would have opened fire, just keep pulling back slowly.” Warren replied. He brushed his hand in the signal for falling back to the wall behind him. In front of him, the Doctor continued to scan the dead husk. “Doctor,” Warren spoke. “Last chance, are you coming with us?”  
The Doctor took one last look at the corpse. The still smoking husk lay there as the grubs at the end of its biological gun writhed and spat their dying gunk. He glanced briefly to his TARDIS, then he locked eyes with the corporal. “Yeah, yeah we should definitely go.”  
Another growl. The shuffling of dirt. Behind them the solid sound of a machine gun opening fire.  
“They're coming!” Benny yelled.  
“Fuck this shit!” Levin clamoured. Warren's eyes scanned over the horizon. His eyes widened as in the distance the entire horizon seemed to move.  
“Run!” He shouted.  
Running was a thing the Doctor was used to. Despite his very apparent age, running was a thing he'd done before and he was very good at it. So good, in fact, that the fully armed soldiers, carrying guns and packs and communication devices,would have been impressed at how swiftly he managed to keep up. That was, if they hadn't been running full pelt themselves. “Eyes forward!” The unnecessary command from corporal Warren shouted. It made sense, eyes forward so that their running was slowed, keep the focus on the destination rather than on the fear and panic. Iit may have been an unnecessary order, but it was certainly good advice.  
So of course, the Doctor disobeyed.  
Clambering up onto the crater ridge were more than a dozen of those tyranid things. Their chitinous armour merging with the cratered earth, their bony undersides reflecting the little sunlight. Behind them lights flashed in the clouds as what looked like organic pods broke through the atmosphere and continued to fall. Then rising up behind them, something huge began to emerge.  
Its body was covered in the same armoured plates. Its exoskeleton caught the same reflection of the light. Its six limbs, pink tongue and elongated fang-filled jaw struck the same feeling of terror in The Doctor's spine, but where the smaller ones held guns it carried two massive scythes. Where the smaller ones had their taloned front legs, this one carried what seemed to be a cannon of flesh and tubes. Where the smaller ones leaned forward, snarling and gnashing teeth like rabid dogs, this one stood on enormous legs, and its mind sent out palpitations of psychic energy. Its eyes landed squarely on The Doctor, and in that moment the lashes of psychic energy tore at his mind. He could sense its hunger. Could feel it reaching out to input that fear and terror into his mind. Could feel it probing commands into the lesser beasts around it, lining them up, preparing them to open fire.  
The Doctor's eyes widened. The tyranids swarming at around its knees lifted their infused guns, aiming indiscriminately at the squad. The machine gun fire ripped at their feet, impaling a handful of them with explosive rounds as more surfaced from behind the crater lip. For a moment, the air seemed to choke with the sight of these creatures. And then, they began to charge.  
The little creatures fired first. Salvoes of grubs ripped through the air at the small group. Several landed short of their mark, a handful rocketed overhead. Every time the sickening splat was heard as the grub smashed against solid earth leaving a trail of acrid gunk behind it. A handful of the charging tyranids rushed forward with blinding speed, choosing to rush forward instead of taking the patience to open fire. The infused guns in their hands less conical and more like the plasma weapon held in Levin's hands. The Doctor did not want to find out if they did the same thing.  
He was about to turn his head around, to follow corporal Warren's sound advice to look forward, but then the big creature fired.  
From out of the barrel of its cannon of flesh and tubes a trio of large fist-sized maggots exploded forward. Hurtling through the air they arced over The Doctor's head, landing a few feet to his right, and in an explosion of gunk and gore the trio splattered over the ground, coating the earth in goblets of fluids and ichor. A sudden burst of heat and steam that hissed burst up from the ground. Rocks cracked and in some places exploded. Acid. Those maggots were nothing but biological breeding grounds of volatile acid. The smaller creatures that had been charging at double speed behind them were slowing down, they were lifting their guns to fire.  
“Keep running!” Warren shouted from in front. The Doctor's head spun toward him to see Warren's face, filled with terror, staring back at him. The look on his face and the slowness of his gait told The Doctor everything. Warren had been looking back as well.  
Warren turned his head forward and began putting all his strength into the retreat. The barricades were near. The other squads were running into position, once they were set-up they would almost be in range to start opening fire. Wait. He scanned it again. They should have been in range already, only the autocannon was firing, and along the flanks only a handful were engaging, what were they waiting for?  
The tyranids behind them opened fire.  
The sound of these guns was not like the ones they'd heard before. Where the others had consisted of sickening splats and the unsettlingly audible gurgles of grubs and maggots drowning in their own fluids, these had the sound of hard shells, ripping through the air and cracking against the earth, several ricocheting off in other directions.  
It was one of these ricochets that caught Benny in the back as as he tried to flee. All of a sudden the hard shell opened up, revealing itself to be not a bullet but some kind of vicious beetle. In an instant the beetle had bored a hole through the armoured flak jacket that protected Benny's shoulders and began gnawing on his softer flesh within. Blood spurted out of the hole, and as the beetle quickly disappeared more of Benny's blood began to pour. Benny fell to the ground as, by The Doctor's estimate, the beetle bored its way through his chest and into his lung. From there it probably moved on to meatier things, juicier things, or possibly started climbing upwards into the neck. Had the beetle landed anywhere else he might have stood a chance of survival. The Doctor glanced over the other soldiers. Not a one of them acknowledged Benny's screams. Not one of them hesitated with the thought to help out their companion.  
They'd seen this before.  
“Doctor! Keep running!” Warren shouted, looking back only briefly to make sure The Doctor was indeed listening. That was his biggest mistake. Behind them, the numbers had begun to grow. Where before there had only been a dozen or more of the little creatures, there were now close to a hundred, many of them armed with slashing scythes. Where before the big one had seemed to be the most impressive thing on the ground, now there were six of them, grinning their fanged grins. Off in the distance more of the creatures were beginning to rise, the fog was spreading, more pods were falling. This is it, Warren thought, this is where we cark it.  
Surging over their gun armed brothers, the small tyranids armed with scythes tore across the ground. Sprinting at a pace twice as fast as any human, they let out a series of high pitched snarls and shrieks, raising their scythes in preparation for the feast they were about to devour. The big ones had begun firing their cannons at the barricades ahead. The little ones with guns had begun to spread out to start picking on targets on the walls. The swarm of scythes was bearing down on them, in seconds they would be mincemeat.  
Fine, Warren glared, if this was going to be their final moments then the least they could do was try and take some of the beasts down with them. He opened his mouth to begin shouting orders to perform an about face and an open fire.  
And that was when the city gates opened.  
Off to the far right, the massive doors of the city yawned open. From out of its depths, something large began to roll out, on thick clacking treads. On their fronts they bore massive barrels, sporting armour thick as man's clenched fist. On the sides what might on another model have been doors for troops had been welded extra armaments, and the armoured fuel tanks for the great barrel above. Behind it rolled another, and another of like appearance. Tanks.  
On the far left another set of gates, and from those doors more treaded monstrosities emerged. The same barrels, the same glorious armoured fuel tanks. Warren's heart leapt with joy, but it wasn't until Levin's voice rang out that he truly heard it sing.  
“Hellhounds! They're sending Hellhounds!”  
“Those aren't just Hellhounds! They're sending Bane Wolfs!”  
“What wolf?!” The Doctor shouted.  
Before Warren could respond every part of the wall opened with a volley of hellfire. Lasguns and autocannons across the wall blared their terrific ammunition, all aimed square through the centre of the battleline – straight over their heads. The sounds of bullets and hot lasers firing drowned out every other noise, bar the high-pitched wailing of beasts caught in their blast. Almost immediately the Doctor felt a sudden pulse on his brain, and as he turned about to look he saw the big beasts reorganising reforming and reorganising their position, but by then it was too late. They'd committed their forces to an assault directly on the wall, pursuing the small squad who'd emerged to face them, and now the battle tanks were lined up on either side. There was the briefest moments of pause, and then, the tanks doused the enemy in flames.  
Fire tore through the ranks of the tyranids, scorching and burning the entire length of the horde. Caught by the pincer movement and the barrage from the wall, the small creatures in front perished swiftly, quickly followed by the amassed hordes on the flanks. Within seconds, the tyranids fled, routed from their assault. But even as the fire burned, more of them were approaching, rising from up over the craters.  
“Come on! Keep running!” Someone yelled. The Doctor turned about to see they'd reached the first of the low barricades, out in front Levin was already leaping over into the waiting arms of others. Behind them, the tanks had began to perform an organised retreat, withdrawing back into the city. As the last of them rolled in and the doors closed, so too did the Doctor find himself scrambling over the simple metal barricade and into the waiting arms of the men that stood there.  
It was only then he realised he was surrounded by soldiers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This second chapter I released sooner than what I intended to be a monthly release. Mostly because the first chapter was really a prologue and rather lacked the 40k elements promised in the taglines.


	3. Down in the Hive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dr gets his first introduction to the Imperium of Man.

“Oh great, more of you.” The Doctor remarked as soon as he was over the barricade. “As if the first half-dozen of you weren't enough.”  
“Corporal Warren, is this the man you went out to save?” A voice spoke. The Doctor looked over and saw a man with considerably more fancy insignias on his shoulder speaking to Warren.  
“Yes sir, he's not a space marine sir.”  
“Well who is he?” Sergeant Hildritch asked.  
“Hello, I'm The Doctor, yes, and I can talk too, why don't you try asking me.” The Doctor snapped angrily. Hildritch turned and gave him a look up and down.  
“My apologies doctor, what's your name?”  
“No, that's it, just The Doctor.” He replied, emphasising by waving his hand as if printing the words in big bold letters.  
“What?”  
“That's all he says sir,” Warren replied. He shook his head to one side. He mumbled, “I think he got rattled on the way down.”  
The Doctor's nostrils flared. “I did not get rattled on the way down!” He shouted. “My name is The Doctor, just The Doctor, and someone shot down and clawed at my TARDIS.”  
“We-”  
“And if I ever find out who did it!” He shouted out at the top of his lungs, “There will be several rounds of live ammunition shoved right up their arse!”  
“Alright Doctor, that's enough, stand down,” the sergeant muttered. The Doctor spun on him. For a moment, Hildritch was taken aback, then slowly he regained himself. “My name is Hildritch, I'm the sergeant of this unit.”  
“Oh you're a sergeant?” The Doctor mocked disbelief. “And are there many more of you standing around here?”  
“Hundreds,” Hildritch replied, “Probably two dozen or more along this wall,”  
“Oh two dozen, fancy that, and does that make you feel special does it, bossing everyone else around, sending people to their deaths!”  
“No it doesn't, and I could do with less backchatter from you given we just saved your life.” Hildritch remarked. The Doctor scoffed.  
“I can take care of myself.”  
“You certainly can run,” Hildritch replied.  
“Sir, please,” Warren interrupted before The Doctor could respond. “Don't antagonise him, he just gets worse.”  
“Yes sergeant Hildritch,” The Doctor replied. “Don't antagonise me.”  
Hildritch took in a sharp breath. “I've got half a mind to throw you back to the nids.” He replied. “If any commissar saw you strutting about like this you'd be shot for insubordination.”  
“Insubordination?” The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Well wouldn't that just be peachy.”  
“It's no day in the summer,” Hildritch replied. “From the way you're talking you're undoubtedly a civilian who's never seen war face to face before, probably part of one of them pacifist nonsense speakers who wouldn't understand duty and service if it smacked them in the face.”  
“Sir!” Warren whispered.  
“Oh no, let him continue,” The Doctor replied, crossing his arms expectantly. “Let's see how deep a hole he can throw himself into.” For a long moment there was silence between the three men. The Doctor's face was tense. Warren swallowed. Although he had only known him for a short time, it was easy for Warren to see that this was all a ruse. The Doctor was seething behind those crossed arms and tensed face. Seething with a boiling rage that was quickly bubbling, waiting to explode over whatever thing the Hildritch might say next.  
“Sir,” he interjected. “Perhaps it'd be best if I take him...”  
Hildritch's hand came up to silence him.  
“Doctor,” he spoke slowly. “It would seem you have not dealt with the Imperial guard before, and with no disrespect I will give you the same advice to you that was given to me on my first day in the lines.” A breath of air escaped Hildritch's lungs. In a sudden burst of movement, sergeant Hildritch's pistol whipped out and smashed against The Doctor's cheek. The blow was hard and the Doctor stumbled a step, but by then Hildritch's pistol was aimed directly at the Doctor's face and Hildritch's face was a mess of rage and boil. “Liven up you dog! You are a coward! Shut up that damned crying! I won't have these brave men here who have been shot seeing a scared bastard sitting here crying. You're a disgrace to the Guard and you're going back to the front to fight, although that's too good for you! You ought to be lined up against a wall and shot! I should shoot you! I ought to shoot you myself right here, Emperor damn you!”  
The look on the Doctor's face was of utter shock. Although he certainly had the personality that merited such a response, Warren doubted he'd ever been struck so in his life. For a long moment, The Doctor and the Sergeant stared. A stare that was only interrupted by the heavy sound of two gloved hands clapping.  
Walking up along the barrier, was a man dressed in a black coat with red trimmings, a pointed hat that seemed to shout “Look at me, I'm important!” and more medallions than a brigadier. On either side of him men were saluting, and as soon as both Warren and Hildritch saw him their hands went up in salute too. At first the Doctor stared quisically, but all too quickly he pieced it together. This was the commissar.  
“Very good sergeant Hildritch,” the commissar stated. “And here I thought you were nothing more than a sympathetic.” The man's voice was raspy, the sort of thing you'd expect from a talking snake. He had some kind of optic device over one eye, it seemed to move about of its own accord, most often in the direction of the craters. It whirred and clicked as if readjusting itself, then came to rest on The Doctor.  
“Well well well...” He rasped. There was a sort of smile on his face, like he knew something he shouldn't know. “Two hearts… It seems we have a mutant in our midst.”  
“A what?” The Doctor replied.  
“Hm?” The commissar's robotic eye flicked up. It didn't so much stare at The Doctor, rather it peered directly at his forehead. Levin stepped forward.  
“He claims to be a-”  
“Quiet,” Hildritch hissed at him. He glanced at the commissar and shivered. “Don't speak unless spoken to.”  
“Now now,” The commissar remarked. “I'd like to hear what the boy has to say.” Hildritch stepped aside so that the commissar might have a better view. The commissar's smile made Levin tremble. “What did he claim to be?”  
“A… a refugee, sir. He says he came down from one of the ships.”  
“He says he's a doctor.” Warren interrupted. The commissar's robotic eye turned to look at him.  
“Did I address you?” He asked. Warren swallowed.  
“No sir.”  
“He shows a lack of discipline, sir.” Hildritch interjected, very carefully keeping his gaze level and looking out to the craters in the distance. “Nothing I couldn't beat out of him.”  
“And we all know how famous your beatings are Sergeant Hildritch,” the commissar said mockingly. Both of his eyes rotated on The Doctor. “What's his name?”  
Hildritch and Warren exchanged looks. Surreptitiously they glanced over to The Doctor. Their attempt at subtlety, however, didn't gone unnoticed. “His name?” The commissar repeated.  
“Uh, no name, sir.” The Doctor spoke. “Just designated the Doctor.”  
“No name?” The commissar asked. The disbelief in his voice  
“Mutants aren't given the privilege of a name, sir.”  
“I see...” Came the reply. For a long moment, the commissar scrutinised him. The Doctor could feel that prying cybernetic eye scanning at his genetic information. “Dataslate?”  
“In my ship, sir.” He nodded his head toward the TARDIS, “Out there.” The Commissar followed his gaze.  
“An interesting vessel,” he muttered. He turned to face the sergeant. “Sergeant Hildritch, as a reward for your men's excellent bravery, I'm relieving your squad of duty for seven hours. A new squad of fresh levies will be attached to this post until you return.”  
“Yes sir.” Hildritch replied.  
“See that they are well watered and fed in that time, within regulation.”  
“Yes sir.” Hildritch said again. The commissar's smile stretched across both sides of his face. He leaned forward, putting his face almost against Hildritch's own.  
“Dismissed.”  
Hildritch took in a deep breath. “Autocannon team, drop the ladders!”  
“Dropping ladders!” A shout came back from atop the wall. A moment later, the tail ends of a pair of rope ladders hit the ground. Almost immediately the soldiers – starting with Levin – began to climb. Hildritch stepped forward to put an arm on the Doctor's shoulder.  
“Doctor, we'd best get you inside. Corporal Warren will show you around.”  
“What?” Warren stood aghast. The Doctor glanced over him.  
“He'll take good care of you, won't you Warren?”  
“Uh, yes sir.” He replied. His eyes teetered between The Doctor and the commissar, as if weighing up between two evils. After a few moments of struggle he picked the one he preferred. “Come on, Doc.”  
“It's, Doctor!” The Doctor snapped.  
“Yeah, whatever,” he replied.

 

Warren led The Doctor through the military lines in short order. Agitated as he was by this assignment, he followed orders. They stopped at inspection to be checked for excess weapons, drop off las-packs and be scanned for foreign materials. The Doctor, as expected, didn't take too kindly to being searched.  
“I'm an alien from another planet,” The Doctor remarked as the scanner passed over him.  
“Ignore him, he's been cleared by the commissar.” Warren said to the soldier in charge of the scan.  
“And what will you do if you find anything?” The Doctor remarked as another soldier patted him down. “Incinerate me? Throw me back out there?”  
“We might,” the soldier said, with a smile on his face. “Depend's on the commissar's orders.”  
“Oh you think that's funny do you?” The Doctor snarked. Warren rolled his eyes.  
“Why can't you just be civil?” He said, to which the Doctor replied.  
“I am being civil.”  
A few minutes later and they were out on the streets, happily checked and cleaned of organic materials. It was about now that Warren noticed how strange the Doctor looked. The cut of his brown jacket was nothing like he'd seen the officers wear, and that humming device he had – which surprisingly hadn't been confiscated immediately by the soldier's at the entrance – was no screwdriver, as The Doctor seemed all too proud to tell people. But short of being a terribly noisy flashlight, there didn't seem to be anything 'wrong' with it or against regulations. Somehow though, everything about The Doctor just made Warren feel strange out of place, as if he had just stumbled onto a brand new world instead of showing the Doctor around this one.  
They stepped into an elevator and Warren programmed it to take them to one of the communal layers of the city. As he did, he pointed The Doctor to the glass window to get his first true look at the hive.  
There it was. A sprawling metropolis. Built ever upwards in layers built upon layers. Huge factory spaces designed for mass production of a thousand different products. Vast spires where noblemen lived in their own little self-enclosed cities. The tallest of spires were concentrated near a central pillar, with the greatest of them reaching up to touch the clouds. The natural earth, The Doctor noted, wasn't visible so far from the ground.  
“Only the top two or three layers are exposed to sunlight,” Warren explained. “The rest are lit by street lights that power down when the sun disappears.”  
“Oh,” The Doctor said.  
While The Doctor admired the view, Warren programmed the elevator to take them down to floor five, where the bunker rooms began. Floor five was still public access, at least as far as the general public was concerned. Warren explained this as the elevator took them down. “...That's where food and rations are being distributed out and where the civilians get to hide during attack.”  
“Why don't they go beneath the ground like every other jail cell?”  
“Layers one to three are factory levels, mostly for munitions and tank storage, repairs and so on. Soldiers live in layer four, so layer five bunkers go to the civilians. It's about as safe as you can get.”  
“Safe? If something blows up the supports in the lower layer the whole structure could come crashing down.” The Doctor cast a glance up at the sky before the elevator passed into the lower levels.  
“It's called an intelligence system,” Warren responded. “If the supports below get blown up in battle the level four bunkers will fall necessarily to the ground and gears will connect to distribute the weight of the upper levels along the connecting supports. Soldier bunkers are designed for mid-flight steering open on command, sort of like drop pods, so they drop first to clear the area, then if a civilian bunker needs to be dropped it'll send out a warning first so that soldiers can clear.”  
“So when all the bunkers fall in a cluster everyone will be buried in bunker and building debris.”  
Warren sighed. “Yes, thank you, that's exactly it, thank you for pointing out the flaw in our otherwise intelligent design.” Warren pressed his head against the glass wall of the elevator, wondering if it was such a good idea to take him directly to where everyone else in his platoon would probably be eating.  
“You're welcome and of course I would, intelligent design is stupid.” The Doctor replied. “Now engineered design, that's a different thing entirely.”  
After a few moments hesitation, he opened the lift console punched the button to let them out at floor nine.  
“New plan, we're heading to the professional area.” He said, not certain why that merited explaining.  
“Changed your mind have we?” The Doctor asked. “I suppose it's about time someone made a good decision around here.”  
Warren groaned.  
The doors opened on the hive city food courts. For a moment The Doctor braced himself for a horde of human and alien lifeforms, all teeming with a horde of private agendas, missions and conflicts. The hustle and bustle of normal city life. But when the doors opened, all he saw was a wide and empty corridor.  
The Doctor stepped outside. “Where are the people?”  
Warren scoffed. “If your city was under attack would you stay close to the walls?” He tapped a button to close the door on the lift. “The only people out this way are the ones who can't afford to leave or have good reason not to move closer to the centre of the city.” He began walking down toward a building with a yellow light flashing in front of it.  
“Good reason?” The Doctor asked.  
“Yeah,” Warren replied and thumped a button outside that door. “Good reason.”  
A noise blared out of the open door. It took a moment, long enough for Warren to disappear inside, for The Doctor to register the tonal patterns as music. And horrid music at that. A thick steady beat with strange spiralling modal changes, with pitch spikes in off-beat places. It was the sort of music The Doctor considered appalling, atrocious, and most of all, for young people. Straightening his collar he muttered something contemptuous under his breath that could almost have been a plea for help and strode in.  
The foyer was carpeted with green the colour of grass. Over by a closed door a man with pale skin and robotic parts stood with crossed arms. He gave The Doctor a threatening look then returned to watching the door. Warren was over on the opposite side of the room leaning over the reception desk, chatting pleasantly to the girl on the other side. Glancing over his shoulder he gave a frustrated sigh.  
“Listen, Susie,” Warren grumbled. “Do you have a spare comm in the lost and found?”  
“Yeah, plenty.”  
“Pull me out one would you?”  
The Doctor's back stiffened. Comm? Communications device? What was he planning? The receptionist, Susie, passed a small square device to Warren, who thanked her for it and immediately pulled another one out of his pocket. The Doctor watched him suspiciously. Was that a tracking device he was installing? He strode over to stand beside the soldier. “What are you doing?”  
Warren glanced up part way through his tinkering. “Getting you a comm so you can call me,” he said. He paused for a moment. “You know what a comm is right?”  
“Of course I know what that is, I wasn't born yesterday.” The Doctor snapped. Warren nodded and went back to his work. Taking the opportunity, The Doctor scoped out the room a second time. He studied every table and mounted animal that made up the decor. Took a good long look at the carpet. Glanced at Susie, smiled and nodded awkwardly. Touched the metal surface of her reception counter. The music was an annoyance, but he could live with that at this distance, although that was hardly the only sound. He could hear yelling coming from beyond the door protected by the pale man.  
“What is that sound?” The Doctor asked. Susie smiled.  
“Just some guys having fun,” she answered.  
“Fun?” He jerked his thumb up at the air. “With that racket?”  
“It's called music,” the pale man answered from by the door.  
“Music?!” The Doctor replied, “You call that music?!” He glanced back at the door. From the sounds of the shouting either someone was in incredible pain, or it was sports. He never really understood sports.   
Warren rolled his eyes. “Here,” He said and shoved the square piece of technology into the Doctor's hands. “It's a localised emergency vox, it doesn't do much, it taps into a segment of the info-net here to send a police alert on a couple of frequencies. If you go missing this will help us find you.”  
The Doctor took one look at the device then pulled out his screwdriver.  
“Hey, what are you doing!”  
“There,” The Doctor stated triumphantly. “Now it goes on all frequencies.” He rattling the small device next to his ear, then with practised grace he slid the screwdriver and the E-vox back into his jacket. “So, now that you've given me a rather primitive phone, are we finished here?”  
“Primitive?” Susie asked.  
The Doctor looked sharply at her. “Would you prefer I called it backwards?”  
“Okay,” Warren said, putting his hands up between the two of them. “I think we should probably take this conversation inside, Susie, can you put him on my tab.”  
Susie glanced at The Doctor. “Is he going to cause any fuss inside.”  
Warren shrugged. “If he does you have my full permission to throw him out.”  
“Hey!” The Doctor shouted. “I don't give permission!”  
“Shut up,” Warren said.  
Susie gave The Doctor a once over glance then pushed a button under the counter. “Door's open, just pay up when you come out.”  
“Thanks Suse,” Warren said, then began walking toward the door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw The Doctor opening his mouth to say something at Susie. “You coming Doctor?”  
“In a moment!” The Doctor replied, spinning back on Susie, his mouth opened like he had the perfect retort formulated in his head.  
“Now.” Warren interrupted, breaking The Doctor's train of thought. In an ecstatic display of frustrated movement, The Doctor repeatedly pointed and retracted a finger at Susie before groaning and stomping after Warren.  
“Did your parents ever intend to call you Clara by chance?!” He snapped. “Or Ricky?!”  
Warren ignored him and walked inside.


	4. A Small Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor gets his first real taste of the 40k world.

Following Warren deeper into the building, The Doctor told himself he had absolutely no expectations. Most likely they were going into some kind of dive bar or some secret underground institution, or maybe an ambush that Warren hadn't realised he'd figured out. But The Doctor would be ready for that, oh yes. Once they were beyond a certain point, the blare of the music caused him to cover his ears and at first he was forced to shut his eyes before looking around. When they opened, he absorbed the scene before him with a mixture of horror and shock.  
“What is this?!” he shouted.  
Beyond the door of the foyer, the décor of the was a distinct mottling of the green carpet floors, and the painted maroon of the walls. Multi-coloured lights had been set up at angles to give the room a starlit presence that looked absolutely horrendous. The bar was long, the chairs and dining tables spoke of a high class restaurant, but they made no sense next to the strange oblong shaped stage that dominated the centre of the room and drew all the attention.  
Yes the stage. It was a large, irregular shaped thing that seemed to divide the room into quarters. And there was something oddly peculiar about it though. The floorboards had been polished and varnished until they had a rather pointless reflective sheen, rather like oil. Strewn throughout the stage were a rather obscenely large number of aluminium poles which were slick with the same sheen as the floor. The more he looked at them, the more he noticed that they were wrong, all wrong. In no way could have properly support the roof with their positioning. And to make matters worse the oblong shaped stage with its completely random circular protrusions were certainly no use for conventional theatre – who puts a stage in the centre of a room anyway? And just to top it off, everywhere he looked there was a faint trace of glitter coating the surface of everything from the poles to the floor.  
Most peculiar of all, and of course being so peculiar it took a while for him to notice it, there were people waving about on top of it. No, not people, there only seemed to be women on top of the stage. They were writhing about in a number of awkward fashions, gyrating heavily against the poles. Practically pressed up against the stage were a number of men and women shouting and clamouring, the same shouting he'd heard from the foyer. Obviously they were not liking the performance. He wasn't particularly liking it either.  
Over in one corner, where the rabble were particularly agitated, one of the on-stage women who was covered head-to-toe in glitter grabbed onto one of the many nearby poles. The pole shook tremendously, and the Doctor flinched fearing a part of the ceiling might fall down.  
“Hey, hey you! Let go of that!”  
The rabble were screaming and The Doctor found himself agreeing them. He marched forward, pushing into the crowd.  
“That's an important part of the building structure!” He shouted. He could hear the men and women shouting around him, but all he could focus on was this foolish girl who was leaning her full weight on this completely unstable pole. He'd just reached the stage, shouting his objections, when the girl gripped it with both hands and began to spin around.  
“They're not designed for that!” The Doctor shouted. Why was no one trying to stop her? She was right there, they were right there. The Doctor put one hand on the stage, expecting to feel some kind of laser beam or invisible barrier that stopped the rabble getting through, but there was nothing. Straightening his jacket The Doctor put on his fiercest scowl, “Right,” he uttered, and jumped onto the stage.  
“Now listen here, you-”  
The glitter-girl's bare foot landed squarely on The Doctor's chest, with all the force her swing around the pole could muster. Before The Doctor could adequately react she flung him backward off the stage and into the crowd. The rabble parted and he fell with a solid thunk squarely on the green carpet covering what The Doctor quickly discovered was an especially hard concrete floor. Two men helped him back to his feet, patting his shoulders and making funny noises. As soon as he was standing, The Doctor then threw himself back at the stage but arms came forth to hold him back. The men who'd helped him, they were holding him back.  
In an instant glitter-girl returned to her pole, flipping herself up and onto it and began dangling at the knees, blowing kisses to the rabble around her. The Doctor shouted at the top of his lungs, “You're putting everyone's lives at risk!” but she didn't seem to care. Then out of the corner of his eye he spotted notes of money being thrown at the stage.  
Suddenly it dawned on him. No one seemed to care. The rabble around him, they weren't an angry mob, they were cheering for this. Cheering for this underdressed glitter-girl as she tried to shake down the entire building. He spun about to the crowd.  
“Are you all insane?!” He shouted. In response someone gave him a shove. Then another, and another. In seconds he found himself pushed outside the circle while the dangling glitter-girl spun about the pole.  
“Madmen,” The Doctor muttered. He glanced up at the ceiling,   
It was at about that moment that Warren appeared next to him with a drink.  
“It's rum,” he muttered. The Doctor glanced down.  
“I prefer brandy.” The Doctor replied.  
“Fine,” Warren said, and downed the drink. “Buy your own then.” He wandered off to some of the tables, taking a seat beside a scruffy looking gentlemen in a vest and with bad hair. Then they just sat there, staring at the stage-girls.  
“Pudding heads,” The Doctor whispered. “All of them.”

Warren sidled up next to Charleston, the scruffy looking man whom even the waitresses didn't seem to want to be around. Charleston put on a polite smile when Warren sat down, reverting back to his usual frown the moment the greeting was over.  
“Shouldn't you be on the wall?” Charleston muttered.  
“I got leave for good service,” Warren replied. Charleston took a sip from his drink.  
“What'd you do? Shoot a commissar?” He asked.  
“Shut up, they'd shoot you for less.”  
“They haven't yet, what do you want to know?”  
Warren cast a subtle glance about the room. Off in the distance on the stage, several of the girls were dancing, slowly taking their clothes off to the enticement of their primarily male audience. No one was paying attention to them except the wait staff, but seeing both of them with a drink they declined to come over. The Doctor was off somewhere nattering on to security, probably about the shamefulness of the girls or the lewdness of the show. They'd probably throw him out or point him to the bar any minute now.  
He gave a sidewards glance to Charleston, who was enjoying one of the nearby shows.  
“How's it going out there?”  
Charleston took a sip from his drink.  
“You mean out the city, out the country or up in space?” He asked. Warren felt Charleston eyeing him carefully, searching for any flinch or quiver in his response. Warren offered none.  
“All of it,” He replied.  
Charleston nodded. “In short hand, we're fucked.”  
There was a firmness to Charleston's voice that told Warren the man wasn't joking. Chalreston wasn't the sort of person to speak those words in that tone lightly. If it weren't for the fact that Warren had reached that conclusion even before being deployed, he would have choked on his drink.  
Charleston continued, “We lost the space battle for half the planet, fleet is holed up near the north poles where they get the most protection and resupply. VOX says the capital has already fallen. Space marines haven't arrive like we were promised, and to make matters worse all over the planet people are rising up in rebellion against the local guard.”  
Warren's eyes widened. “What?”  
“Yeah, riots, sabotage in the streets. People are blaming mutants.”  
Warren glanced over at the old man, the mutant old man, now accosting several of the waitresses.  
“Mutants you say?” He asked.  
“Yeah, haven't picked up much on them,” Charleston muttered, he paused to talk to a waitress, ordering them both another round to replace their diminishing drinks. “It only happened twice. One minute there's a report over the VOX of a bunch of mutant freaks, then something gets blown up and everyone is too busy saving their skin as the nids pour in,” he shrugged, and stared at his empty drink. “It's got the commissar real worried though.”  
“He thinks it might happen here?” Warren inquired.  
“Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried an insurrection in the middle of a war.” Charleston shrugged. “Half the galaxy know the Imperium is forty percent full of shit and sixty percent desperately doing everything they can to keep it together. People take advantage of that.” Warren sighed. “And sometimes people just get those percentages mixed up and honestly think they can do a better job.”  
“Yep,” Charleston said, “And those are the people the commissars shoot first, thanks love.”  
Charleston muttered as the waitress returned with their drunks. Placing another shot of rum in front of Warren's hands Charleston gestured for him to drink up. Warren shook his head.  
“I've had two already, shift resets in a few hours,” Warren said.  
“I'll take that,” an older voice interjected, scooping up the rum and downing it in one go. Warren looked up just in time to see the Doctor pull a face as the rum coursed down his tongue.  
The Doctor shook his head, more like a tremble, and blinked. “Not as good as brandy but it'll do.”  
Charleston stood threateningly. Warren, however, got in first. “How long have you been standing there?”  
“Long enough,” The Doctor muttered, “We need to get out of here.”  
“Why?”  
“Because I said so that's why.”  
Charleston jerked a thumb at The Doctor. “Who's this guy?”  
In classic fashion, The Doctor, stretched out a hand to handshake. “I'm The Doctor, how do you do?”  
Warren rolled his eyes. “Doctor, Charleston, Charleston, Doctor,”  
“Thanks for the drink.” The Doctor muttered.  
“He's the reason I got a few hours off duty,” Warren continued.  
“Yes, and we still need to get out of here,” The Doctor interjected once again. Warren lifted one of his hands.  
“Will you calm down, we're perfectly safe.” He said, deliberately lowering his hand in stages as he did. It was an old motivational speaking technique, lower the hand to 'lower' the volume. It didn't seem to work on The Doctor though.  
“We are not safe, in fact I'd go as far as to say that perfectly not safe is a better descriptor of our current situation.”  
Warren looked puzzled. The Doctor's face was more serious than it had ever been, which was saying something about that face. The eyebrows were bent forward in focus. The wrinkles over his brow were set in stone. His eyes, normally piercing, were scanning the room, hunting.  
“What is it?” Warren asked, suddenly concerned. He exchanged a look with Charleston, then gazed about the room. The usual men and women were in here tonight, the usual girls on stage, the usual muscle-bound brickhouses on security. A couple of extra security cameras were in place. The walls hadn't been repainted, exits were clear, the pool table off in the corner hadn't been touched in months but that wasn't unusual. The more he looked the more the fear of some unknown horror crept into the back of his mind. He tried to keep his cool.  
“Well?” He asked, hesitantly.  
The Doctor briefly glanced at him, only briefly. Those hunting eyes went swiftly back to scanning the room.  
“I don't know,” he whispered.  
Warren groaned. “Great, well when you do know, let us know, until then go watch some of the girls,” he paused. “And don't touch,” he added. Warren looked away at that point, and didn't see the look of utter bewilderment The Doctor gave him.  
“Oh you useless…” The Doctor's face was a mask of rage, and he took a step out to address the rest of the room. “Listen up everyone!” All eyes turned to face him. “I need you all to go outside, right now. Put down your drinks, don't look at the girls, no don't look at the girls, look at me, you're all in danger.” By now The Doctor had the attention of the entire room, including the men working security who were slowly moving toward him. Warren started to look worried. It had been his responsibility to look after this man, if he didn't do something now this could be his career, not to mention that this was the last place of relaxation this side of the city.  
The Doctor continued. “...I need you to go outside, calmly, and for the Face of Bo's sake will you women put some clothes on!”  
Charleston raised an eyebrow, “Face of who?” Warren shifted nervously in his seat.  
“Okay, Doctor...”  
“Yes, I'm talking to you Glitter-Woman! Get off that pole it's not designed for you to-”  
“Sir, could you come with us please?” The security had reached The Doctor now, and Warren's heart sank. They had their arms crossed and were staring at The Doctor in a threatening manner. They weren't asking, but knowing The Doctor...  
“Yes,” The Doctor replied, “After we've gotten everyone else out of here first.” The Doctor turned about to start shouting at the audience again.  
In that instant, Warren shot straight up out of his chair. “No, I got this, Doctor we're leaving,” Warren said.  
“About bloody time,” The Doctor replied. Although he tried, The Doctor wasn't very good at hiding the smile on his face. He turned back toward the men of security, nodded his head once and said, “If you'll excuse me,” then began all but skipped to the door.  
Behind him, Warren couldn't help but stare for a moment. The Doctor, who had caused such a huge raucous not ten seconds earlier, was simply leaving without issue. And all because he'd said they'd leave. Was all that just an act to force them to leave? Was that it?  
“Sir,” security muttered. Warren realised he still hadn't moved from his seat. Clenching his fist Warren chased after The Doctor.  
Once they were outside, Warren didn't hold back.  
“Hey!” He shouted. The Doctor began to turn to face him, but before he could Warren gave The Doctor a fierce shove to the shoulder that spun him ninety degrees. The Doctor stumbled, almost falling over, but managed to catch himself before he did. Warren's chest heaved with fury.  
“Did you put all that on just to get me out here.”  
The Doctor groaned. He gave Warren a fierce look. “Ow,” he uttered with all the anger he could muster.  
“Don't you mock me,” Warren snapped, he pointed toward the strip-club, “Did you do all of that just because you wanted to go outside?”  
“You weren't bloody listening!” The Doctor shouted.  
“That didn't answer my question!” Warren responded.  
The Doctor glared. “Yes, yes I did put on all of that, not that everything I said wasn't entirely legitimate to start with-”  
Warren's fist came flying at The Doctor's face, but in a surprisingly deft display of movement The Doctor weaved to one side and with both palms gave Warren a push on his shoulder. Warren, overextended, stumbled, opening the distance between himself and The Doctor immensely. Warren spun about, seething with anger. Where had The Doctor learned that trick? Seven weeks of martial arts and bayonet training and an old man was able to so easily deflect him? Who was this guy?  
“Have you got it out of your system yet?” The Doctor spoke.  
“Not even close,” Warren responded. The Doctor groaned. Warren spat at a drainage port near the centre of the road. “You're worse than a bloody commissar, at least all they'll do is shoot you.”  
“Oh yes, and straight in with the insults!” The Doctor shouted back. “Never mind that I probably just saved your life!”  
“There was nothing going on!” Warren snapped, “You talk as if you just did some grand heroic thing but all you did was embarrass me in front of-”  
“I saved you!” The Doctor hollered.  
“From what?!” Warren shouted. “The women? Are you that much of a prude you've got to take me out of the only place where I can sit down with people and enjoy a drink in the entire city?”  
The Doctor threw his arms in the air as if he were giving up. “Soldiers,” he exhaled. “Every single time, soldiers.”  
“Hey, you want to mock us, fine, but you remember that soldiers saved your life out there in the craters! My soldiers!”  
A round of lasgun fire ricocheted off the high ceiling and both The Doctor and Warren pulled back in surprise. Warren had his laspistol drawn and pointing in the direction of the noise, but as soon as he saw who had fired he lowered his gun.  
Standing before them were a number of men, seven in fact, with heavy carapace armour and gas masks that shielded their faces. Each of them were armed with a series of frag and krak grenades by their belt, and each carried an assortment of weapons including but not restricted to a lasgun and laspistol. In the instant where Warren raised his hands, he spotted grenade launchers, flamers and bolt weapons in their retinue. But it wasn't these that made Warren worried. Emblazoned across their shoulders he saw skulls, Roman numerals, and other gang signs. The things that marked these as the elite soldiers of the Imperium. The best of the best.  
Storm Troopers.  
And standing beside Warren, The Doctor looked as angrily confused as always.  
Warren gulped. The Storm Troopers were the greatest soldiers known within the rank and file of the Imperium. Where Warren had received a few weeks of military training, they had received months. Where Warren had to do with standard issue las armaments that choked up and overheated regularly, they had their own personalised weaponry. Where Warren was only allowed a laspistol in the streets of the city, they were permitted their full armaments, all with reinforced barrels, thermal cooling and stabilised power packs of ammunition. Among the men of the guard, Storm Troopers were veterans unsurpassed.  
And all the while they were taught unwavering loyalty to the Emperor.  
The one carrying the boltgun, whom Warren had identified as the sergeant, hefted his weapon in his arms and relaxed slightly to one side. He was eyeing them up and down.  
“Are we interrupting anythin'?” The chiding voice that emanated from his mask spoke volumes. The others were snickering. They're acting like playground bullies Warren thought to himself. No, he corrected himself, they are playground bullies, and this is their playground. Casting a pleading glance at The Doctor, begging him to stay quiet, he holstered his pistol.  
“Just a little dispute sir, nothing more,” He answered for them both. He hoped the holstering of his weapon would stand as the gesture of good faith intended, and he relaxed until he was standing at ease. A stirring mantra struck into his head, don't look confrontational, don't look confrontational. He continued thinking it until the mantra was a bulwark of defence. Metaphorically he imagined it to be his armour, his gun, his shield. Don't look confrontational. He hoped The Doctor had been paying attention to his glance.  
The sergeant jerked his head to one side. “We heard something about the commissar?”  
Warren swallowed. For the rank and file. Commissars were the executors of the Emperor's will. He tried to think fast about how to answer. He didn't get the chance. The Doctor interrupted.   
“Aye, he called me one,” the old man said. The bulwark of defence in Warren's head snapped.  
The storm troopers chuckled with vague amusement. The one carrying the flamer piped up.  
“A commissar is it? Maybe he should hang out with us then! We could teach him a thin' or two about bein' a proper officer!”

The troopers cackled. It was a short first volley of what promised to be many more if they had their way. For the first time Warren and The Doctor exchanged looks, and they saw in each other the same uncertainty and fear.  
For Warren, the fear was focused entirely on The Doctor's actions, and Warren's own uncertainty as to how the crazy old man would respond. After all, the kook had already back-talked to Sergeant Hildritch, Susie, several bouncers indoors, gotten kicked off-stage by one of the strippers, yelled at an entire room full of people and who knows what else he'd done when Warren wasn't looking. These troopers had the right to quell insurrection however they saw fit, and that however they saw fit could range from a brief punitive scolding to a las-shot to the head. They were effectively facing down the barrel of a gun, and Warren had no idea what The Doctor was going to do.  
For the Doctor though, the fear and uncertainty were based on something else entirely. It was a perfectly reasonable fear. One that stemmed only naturally out of a situation like this. Everyone here was behaving like… like… humans. Here he was, on a different world, in a different dimension, and everyone still behaved like the sort of short-sighted, rubbish, dense, pudding-brained humans he'd left behind. But worse than that, they were treating him like a human, like he was one of them. Instead of actually finding out who he was, checking their records or whatever it was they'd decided to treat him as one of their own – no, as a civilian one of their own. Thi0s was how they treated their own people? Soldiers waving their guns around, shoot first, ask questions later, rampant disregard for the logical, reasonable, course of events. Was no universe free of humanity's ability to act so stupid?!  
There was only one way out of this, but The Doctor was not willing to give up his confident façade. He gave the troopers a slight, lopsided smile and uttered the following words.  
“I think I'll be fine thanks.”  
Warren took in a sharp breath. “I think we should be going now,” he grabbed The Doctor by the arm. The Doctor glanced down at it. He gave Warren a glare. In response Warren cleared his throat. “Doctor?”  
The suggestion was as much a request as it was a beg, and the next few moments passed for Warren at a painful crawl. For a moment Warren thought The Doctor was going to erupt once again, spurting whatever profanities – and who-knows maybe even borderline heresies – that popped into his head. But finally the look of dawning realisation crossed his face.  
“Yes,” he responded. Warren released his arm. “Yes,”  
“If you'll excuse us officers,” Warren said.  
They began to walk briskly toward the elevator. They glanced over their shoulder from time to time, but very quickly the troopers disappeared from sight. This didn't calm Warren, however, and it wasn't until the elevator arrived and they were safely inside that he let out a sigh of relief.  
The Doctor paced back and forth, his fingers wrapped around his chin in the classic depiction of thought. Warren programmed the lift to take them down to the fifth floor, then closed his eyes and leaned against the window.  
“That was bracing,” he muttered. It was several moments before he opened his eyes. The Doctor was still pacing. Warren watched him curiously. He hadn't noticed it at first, but the more he watched the more he noticed, The Doctor's brow was pinched, his walk was getting more jerky, and beads of sweat were drawing across the side of his temple.  
Kaboom!  
The Doctor stumbled and practically fell into the wall.  
“What was that?” He shouted. Warren chuckled.  
“That, is the sound of a basilisk opening fire,” Warren answered. When he noticed the confusion on The Doctor's face, “...A really big gun.”  
“Oh,” The Doctor said, acting as if the revelation was nothing important. He resumed his pacing back and forth. All of a sudden he glanced up at Warren, locking gazes for a moment before returning to his thoughts. The elevators binged, and the doors began to open, but as Warren pulled himself off of the wall The Doctor's hand slammed on the button that closed the doors.  
“Hey, what are you doing.”  
“Listen, Lucas,” The Doctor spoke.  
“My name is Warren,” he corrected.  
“Doesn't matter,” The Doctor replied. For a moment Warren was ready to arc up and shout at The Doctor, but then something happened. Instead of rising in anger, he faltered. He saw something in The Doctor's eyes, something that he hadn't seen before. It took him a moment, but finally he recognised what he'd seen. Fear. And not just any fear, a very specific fear. The most primal fear of all. Fear of the unknown.  
Warren shifted his stance, giving The Doctor the floor.  
“What is it?” He said, hesitantly.  
The Doctor eyed him. Scanning him up and down. And then, with a deep rythym to his voice, he uttered. “I think it's about time you explained what's going on here.”


	5. Hello Darkness My Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor (and the readership) finally starts to get a debrief.

Warren pushed the Doctor into his bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him.  
“What do you mean explain what's going on here?!” He exclaimed. “it's bloody obvious innit? Tyranids have invaded, and we're fighting to repel them from the city!”  
The Doctor gave a shout and spun about the room. “No! Words, words, words, words, words! Those are just words!” He shouted. “What's the real story? What are Tyranids? Why is there a war?” The Doctor brought his hands up in front of him as if he were clutching for something. “History, give me history.”  
A loud boom echoed in the distance.  
“What's there to say?” Warren answered. “They're aliens, they attack us, we shoot them.”  
The Doctor threw his hands in the air. “Of course, that's what you do, humans, no wonder no one ever wants to talk to you, all you do is shoot things!” He stomped around the room, looking for something that wasn't secured to the floor to toss. Spotting a lamp on the dresser, he strode over and slapped it to the floor.  
“Hey!” Warren shouted. The Doctor began clicking his fingers.  
“Books, do you have any books?”  
“What are books?”  
“What are...” The Doctor stared at him aghast. “Don't you know anything?!” Warren stared at him blankly. “Books! Big thick things with words written inside them, you know what words are don't you?”  
“What you mean like this?” Warren pulled a thin booklet from out of a chest pocket in his armour. Upon it was written 'the Infantryman's Uplifting Primer'.  
The Doctor scrambled, “Yes, yes, give it here,” he snatched the small book away from Warren. He flicked through it, turning over pages every one or two seconds as he committed the information to memory. He got halfway through it then slammed it shut.  
“Rubbish,” he said, flinging the book over his shoulder.  
“Hey!” Warren shouted, “Do you have any idea what you just did?”  
“Yes, a shootable offense, like everything on this damn planet,” He replied, putting his fists against his hips. He needed to think, there had to be more to this than met the eye. Something else was going on, something more than just...  
“No, I could get shot for that!” Warren shouted. “Ill treatment of or neglect of accoutrements through willful or non-willful neglect will be shot and disrespect to one any work of the Emperor-”  
“-Will be punished by mutilation, bled to death and burned, page twelve, and that's barbaric by the way,” The Doctor finished for him. He grit his teeth. The book was nothing but propaganda, violent cult material preaching purity and religious ferocity constructing lies against anything not human, anything different. It sounded like something he'd seen before, but he couldn't quite place it.  
“What is wrong with you?” Warren gasped. “Have you been living on some backward planet your whole life?”  
“Ha! Backward! I'll tell you who's backward, you, all of you, shooting things instead of trying to understand them! Blowing things up instead of listening! Threatening to cut off people's bollucks if they don't obey!” He threw a few wild gestures and hateful looks before regaining his composed stance and just generally angry stare, “This is why I hate soldiers.”  
“Yeah, well hate us all you like, we're the only thing standing between you and destruction.” Warren grumbled. “You and all you bloody activists can go die in a hole.”  
That perked The Doctor's ear. “Activists?” He pushed his chin forward. “Did you say activists?”  
Warren whipped out his pistol. “So Charleston was right, you're a fucking insurgent.”  
“What?”  
“Yeah I heard about you, mutants hiding out in major cities, blowing things up and letting the tyranids in, you think I'm going to let that happen here?!” Warren took a step back, opening up some space between him and The Doctor.  
“Oh for Pete's sake.”  
Warren pulled the trigger.   
The lasbolt shot through The Doctor's leg and embedded itself into the ceramite floor. The Doctor fell to the floor with a heavy fun, crying out in pain.  
“Next one will be aimed at your head!” Warren snapped. He adjusted his aim. “Now you tell me, who are you?!”  
The Doctor barely heard the words. The bolt had sliced through his flesh like butter, and though it had partly cauterised the wound, and burned straight through the fabric.  
“Tourniquet,” he winced. “I need a tourniquet!”  
“First you answer my questions!” Warren shouted. “Who are you?!”  
The Doctor grabbed a belt from off the floor, wrapped it around his leg and pulled, “I'm The Doctor!” he shouted.  
“Don't think I won't shoot you again,” Warren replied. “What's your name, your real name!”  
“Aargh! John!” He shouted. “John Smith!”  
“Who are you trying to hook up with John?” Warren snapped. “What are you planning?”  
“I'm not planning anything!” The Doctor exlcaimed. A loud explosion echoed from outside. “I don't know anything!”  
“Like Horus you don't,” Warren replied. “You've been playing me from the start, landin' out in the fields, confronting the officers.”  
“If I were playing you, why would I land in the middle of a crater half a kilometre away from the walls!”  
“Maybe you had to,” Warren replied. “Maybe you needed to in order to get close, because your ship was damaged.”  
“Yes, when you shot it down!” The Doctor snapped. Warren adjusted his aim to The Doctor's face.  
“Don't you think I won't shoot.”  
“No,” The Doctor replied. “I think you will shoot, because you're a soldier, and all soldiers are the same.”  
“We are not all the same,” Warren replied.  
“Prove it,” The Doctor replied. “Put the gun down and prove it.”  
Warren took another step back, holding the pistol out before him. “No,” his eyes narrowed. “I put the gun down and you release some toxic gas or weapon that kills us both, or just me, and then you start whatever plan it is you've started.”  
The Doctor made an angry sound. He moved his leg and winced, clutching at it firmly. “I do not...” he started slowly, “...have a plan.” He pulled the belt tighter. “I travelled here from another dimension, I don't know where I am, or how to get back.” He pulled the belt again. “What I know, is that this version of humanity is barbaric, and mad, and far worse than the humanity I remember.”  
“What are you doing to your leg?”  
“What does it look like? I'm trying to cut off the blood circulation.”  
Warren glanced down, and noticed a small stain on The Doctor's leg. It was red, like blood, but darker, and with the slightest tint of orange to it. It was no chemical that he was familiar with. Mutant the commissar had said. There was all the proof.  
Then it struck him. Mutant. The commissar had called him mutant. The commissar knew, and hadn't killed him. Something was going on here, something bigger than he thought. Fear now consumed him. Was the commissar a traitor? Had he just exposed the commissar, a man who had all rights to kill him on the spot without trial, without restriction? Warren fidgeted with the gun, he trembled.  
“What is your relationship with the commissar?!” He blurted out. The Doctor looked at him confused.  
“What?”  
“The commissar, he called you a mutant and didn't shoot you, that's an infraction of Emperor's law and you… you know that.” The gun was shaking. “Who are you?”  
The Doctor groaned. “I don't know the commissar, I don't know who anyone is except you, and frankly, I couldn't care less about the lot of you.” He released his grip on the belt and let the thing slide off his leg. Then with a burst of energy he clambered to his feet.  
Warren watched shocked as The Doctor stood. A few seconds ago he'd been lying there wounded from a las-shot straight through the thigh and now suddenly he was standing. Hurting, and straining, but still standing. Most of the wound had closed, and the orange tinted substance he had seen was nothing more than a few specks on burned trousers. The Doctor was glaring at him and Warren realised he challenging him with those eyes.  
“How… how did you do that?”  
“I heal faster than you,” he replied. “I didn't really need the belt, but I also didn't want to leave any trace of my blood on your floor.” He flexed his leg, holding back a grunt as he did.  
“You're not human.”  
“No, I'm not, and I'm also not one of your activists trying to blow up the city.” He replied. He tried flexing his leg again. It hurt less this time, but he still couldn't quite stand straight. “I need to get back to my ship, and then I will leave and never return.”  
“You're telling me the truth now right?” Warren asked. “You're not lying?”  
“I'm not lying,” The Doctor repeated.  
Warren lowered the gun.  
The door opened suddenly, and two men came inside. At first Warren thought it was his bunkmates, returning to rest from their time off-duty. But then he saw them. Their rough uniforms. Non-standard body-armour. Scratched battle insignias. They were Veterans. The Veterans. Commander Zachary's personal bodyguard.  
Warren's shaking hand went up in salute.  
“Corporal Warren,” the veteran sergeant spoke.  
“Y-yes,” Warren replied. He could see the unshaven growth on the sergeant's face, the scars of combat. His heart was pounding in his chest. Was this it? Was this his last moment?  
The sergeant spoke. “You are relieved of your duty to watch this individual, by authority of Colonel Zachary you are ordered to return to your station.” His gaze moved over to the now standing Doctor. “We'll take it from here.”

 

The two men led The Doctor out of the dorm facilities and to the elevator, taking it down to the warehouses on level one. Uncaring about matters of security or other factors, they led him directly past lines of tanks in production or repair as they took him to their destination. On more than one occasion, and more often than not in quick succession, The Doctor had politely asked where they were taking him. The response had been simple.  
“The commander wants to see you.”  
They approached a vehicle that looked like little more than a box with treads and clambered inside.  
“This is a Chimera, armoured personnel carrier with hull mounted weaponry, gun holes that can be locked closed, fully integrated Vox unit and support firearms,” the sergeant explained. He looked around the interior, patting it warmly as if it were a soft rug. “It can hold up to twelve soldiers, more if comfort isn't an issue.”  
The Doctor shrugged. “So what.”  
The sergeant looked at him with a blank stare. “So, there are approximately twenty of these in this wing of the complex alone, and every one of them has instantaneous communication at a range of up to eighty kilometres, minimum.”  
“That's not very impressive, my telephone box reaches further than that.” There was a slight pause in the conversation as the sergeant processed that information.  
“Right… hey Jackson, get her rolling.”  
The beast began trundling through the warehouse floor. Every now and then The Doctor glanced out through one of the gun holes, scanning everything they passed. He saw engineers, soldiers, and a variety of mechanical things that looked like they might once have been engineers or soldiers. Above them he saw the metal railings and gears that Warren had spoken of, the thousands of compartmentalised bunkers that formed the ceiling. What were they thinking? The Doctor thought again. Don't they understand how fundamentally stupid it is to put a big, fat, heavy bunker suspended above the ground?  
He turned to the veteran sergeant. “Bet you must feel quite safe with those bunkers above your head.”  
Silence.  
This was going to be a long trip.  
When the vehicle finally stopped, the sergeant was the first to stand up, thumping a button near the back that opened the doors. The metal wall opened up into a ramp, and the veterans both stepped outside.  
“Will you step out of the vehicle please?” The sergeant spoke.  
Taking it cautiously, The Doctor approached the ramp with due suspicion. Although his leg had mostly healed his pants still bore the hole from Warren's las-shot, and no doubt scars of the injury still remained. He also walked with a slight limp, but that too would go away in time. He could only hope the soldier hadn't noticed how new it was.   
The two veterans took position one in front and one behind The Doctor and marched him toward an elevator tube not far from where they'd parked. Around them, he could hear the sounds of munitions being processed, and all the horrible sounds of inefficient machinery.  
“Is every part of the city like this?” He spoke mindlessly to himself.  
“Only most of it,” the sergeant replied, and hammered the button to summon the elevator.  
The elevator took them to the uppermost floor of the building. At some point they surpassed the standard sun-layer that Warren had described to him earlier, and as they climbed further, The Doctor realised how far into the city they'd driven. They were not near to the centre of the city, far from it it seemed, however the outer wall he'd come in from had certainly been left some ways behind. He glanced out over to the craters beyond, where a tiny blue speck sat. There was a puff of smoke, a plume almost, coming from somewhere near to its location. He mumbled under his breath.  
“They better not hit my TARDIS.”  
The elevator stopped at floor seventy eight.   
When the doors opened the smell of opulence wafted in and for a moment The Doctor was taken back to Time Lord masquerades, off-world treaty signings and ballrooms in the French 1800s. As the doors opened fully and the room revealed, he realised these memories were not too far out of touch. It was like he'd entered a palace, with sofas, paintings and pottery decorating every centimetre of the hall. The wafting smell of acacias filled The Doctor's nose. There were soldiers here, Veterans like his escort, but they seemed to merge into the background. The whole place seemed like the room of a man who'd bought his commission rather than earned it. It was only then that he saw the man in black garb staring at him intently from across the hall.  
Commissar Coleman, and surrounding him were the gas-masked faces of storm troopers.  
“Ah, thank you gentlemen,” the Commissar spoke. “I'll be taking him from here.”  
“Colonel Zachary ordered us to take The Doctor directly to him,” the sergeant spoke, placeing his hand on the butt of his gun. The Doctor couldn't help but notice that the air had changed scent between the sergeant and the commissar. It was as if the air tingled somehow. It was difficult not to see the look that passed over the sergeant's face, it was the same look he'd worn when discharging Warren of his former orders.  
“There's been a change in your orders, hand him over.”  
The stormtroopers grabbed the butts of their guns.  
All of a sudden every eye in the room was focused on this confrontation. Every soldier standing in the background stepped forward, hands over their holsters. The storm troopers leaned in on one leg, stroking the backs of their customised heavy rifles and grenade launchers. The sergeant stared with uncompromising certainty, the commissar stared back with the sinister grin of victory.  
“Well now isn't this a pretty picture,” The Doctor exclaimed. “Here I am being fought over by you two and neither of you have even explained to me why you're fighting.”  
“We're not fighting,” the sergeant spoke. “We're simply assessing the appropriate chain of command.”  
“Wise move,” Coleman replied.  
“The commander is indisposed at the moment with a VOX call from the fleet admiral,” one of the stormtroopers interrupted. “Commissar Coleman has assumed complete authority until that call is over.”  
“Assumed authority?” the sergeant exclaimed.  
“Stalling will get you nowhere Sergeant Smith,” Coleman articulated. “The good Doctor is under my jurisdiction and that call could go on for a good hour yet.”  
“The Doctor is a civilian.” Smith responded. He stood resolute with his back shielding The Doctor from Coleman's leering stare. But the stare didn't last long. Coleman's expression shifted, a slight downward curl appearing on his formerly smiling lips. A threatening glare entered his expression.  
“Are you questioning my orders?”  
For a moment, the air between the two men shivered. For a moment, it seemed neither of them were going to back down, and that a firefight was imminent. Then Smith's eyebrows furrowed, a sigh escaped his lips.  
“...No, commissar.” He spoke. He waved for his men to stand down and stepped away from The Doctor.  
“Good man,” Coleman said, and turned to The Doctor. “You will follow us now.” Coleman turned and began walking, three of his stormtroopers left from his side and took up positions to surround The Doctor, replacing his former veteran escort. The Doctor glanced at these men – if they even were men underneath those gas-masks and bodysuits – and concluded that these idiots were probably the poster children for military idiocy. He'd seen Warren's reaction to them, and how these soldiers here had reacted the same way. No one wanted to mess with them, and no one especially wanted to mess with this Coleman. Well that was about to change.  
The Doctor dug his heels into the floor and narrowed his eyes against the back of Coleman's neck.  
“Why?”  
Everyone froze. For the Doctor, despite his distaste in military personnel of any description, it was beyond evident that some people were simply more pleasant to be around than others. More to the point, this particular batch of hoons were trying to fight everything with terror and fire. Although he could see for himself – and had read – that commissars were not normally considered people to be trifled with, he was hardly going to stoop to that kind of belligerent authority. And besides that he doubted that wherever Coleman was planning on taking him was anywhere pleasant.  
For everyone else, the question hung in the air like a knife, poised to fall on whoever broke the silence. No, not a knife. The Doctor thought about their minds for a moment. They probably pictured it as an automatic shotgun with reloading explosive rounds and a splatter zone lethal to everything up to fifty metres. Every Veteran had their arms bracing their guns. Every stormtroopers seemed confused or too scared to move. And ahead of them, keeping his cool as always, Coleman had simply paused. When he turned around he wore an expression like he had just heard someone shout at him in a foreign language.  
“Pardon?” He asked, turning on his heel.  
The Doctor squinted. “Like the good sergeant said, I'm a civilian, I don't come under your jurisdiction, in fact, I don't come under any of your jurisdiction, I get to decide where I go and I've decided I'm not going with you until I get a straight answer.”  
Coleman's expression shifted. His confusion took on the role of mild bemusement. He took a step back toward The Doctor. “Perhaps no one has ever explained to you the role of a commissar?”  
“Oh it's been explained,” he replied. “And I've seen your type before, I'd wager I understand you and your patsies better than you do.”  
The stormtroopers shifted uncomfortably, and Coleman raised a hand to calm them. He took another step forward, then another until he was eye to eye with The Doctor. He seemed surprised at The Doctor's words, surprised and slightly amused.  
“What do I surprise you?” The Doctor spoke. “No one's ever spoken to you this way before?”  
If The Doctor's words had hit a sore spot in Coleman nobody could tell. The commissar simply eyed him off with the same bemused stare he'd been treating him with before. “Are you challenging me?”  
Well if it wasn't bleeding obvious. “Yes,” The Doctor replied.  
“Fascinating.” Coleman murmured. His expression cooled, that tooth-ridden smirk returned to his lips. Then the hand dropped. The butt of a gun collided with the back of The Doctor's head, and everything went black.


	6. The Briefing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor finally learns about the 40k universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all feedback on these works will be appreciated. Updates do come faster when I either know people are enjoying them or learn how they can be improved.

The Doctor woke in an office. It was a nice office, full of felts and furs, fine woods and other things that seemed to shout out loudly “I'm a rich person, see me gloat!” Had he not been recovering from a screaming headache, he might have been able to appreciate it as intended, instead of just as the obnoxious display of obscene wealth it made out to be.  
Groaning he stumbled to his feet, and glanced around the room proper. He saw red. A lot of red. That was probably important. Didn't matter though, what really mattered was where he was, and in who's office he'd-  
“I trust your sleep wasn't too painful.”  
He spun around. The voice belonged to a man dressed in the regalia of military, fancy yes but not quite as fancy as that Commissar he'd been dealing with earlier. There were tassels hanging from his shoulders, medals emblazoned on his chest. Had The Doctor been a betting man he would have guessed the commander, but knowing his luck he'd just found some form of deputy sheriff. The officer sat on the edge of his deck, a ceramic teapot with floral pattern on the wood next to him. It all felt very surreal.  
The Doctor rubbed the back of his head, feeling the lump where the rifle had hit. It still hurt like the devil, but the throbbing was beginning to go away. He can't have been unconscious for too long. That was when his hands ran over something. Something cold and tingly. He ran his hand over it again. It felt like metal, and it almost felt like… like…  
“I see you've found the hard drive the good commissar ordered be installed into your brain,” The man said, speaking deliberately slowly. “If it's of any comfort he used very good surgeons.”  
The Doctor pulled his fingers back in front of his face. Blood coated their surface.  
“What have you done to me?” His voice came out more stunned than demanding, more bewildered than certain. The officer, if that's what he was, gave an uncouth smile. His moustache waggled. Turning to his desk he picked up the pot of tea and began pouring it into a cup.  
“Would you like some?”  
“I said what have you done to me?”  
The officer waggled his moustache again and poured a second cup. Picking up the first he placed it down in front of the confused Doctor.  
“The Commissar picked up some unusual readings from you out in the field, two hearts, abnormal brain wave activity, significant amounts of radiation,” he pushed the tea cup until it was happily within reach. “Originally I believe he intended to dissect you, but I think he decided it would be better to acquire a scan of your active brain first, do you like milk?”  
“Tea should always be drunk on its own or at the very most with lemon.” The Doctor replied absently, still processing his thoughts. “Who are you?”  
“My name is Zachary, I'm the colonel and overall commander of this quarter of the city, and it's my men that are responsible for getting you out of the craters.”  
“Was it also your men that shot me down?”  
“Goodness no,” Zachary paused for thought. “Although a few might have been overzealous during your descent.”  
“That explains the bullet holes.”  
An explosion echoed from outside. A loud, resounding boom. A grim reminder that there was still a war going on outside.  
“What do you mean he put a hard drive in my brain?”  
Zachary gave a slight scoff and acquired his own teacup. “I believe the Commissar intended to use you as the shining example on his resume to present to the High Lords of Terra, he wishes to be an inquisitor you see,” he took a sip of his tea. “Fortunately some of my men got me off the phone and alerted me to the situation, you were extracted as fast as they could, but not before he'd implanted that thing however hurriedly.”  
The Doctor blinked as he caught the words Zachary had just spoken. High Lords. Terra. So these were humans, and this dimension had an earth also. He needed to learn more, he needed to discover what had gone so drastically wrong in this timeline. He felt the throbbing on the back of his head and reached for it. Surgery. Hard drive.  
“And you left it in there?”  
“After seeing the biological overlay he had of you? I think it's safe to say that there is much we could learn from scanning you,” he took a ponderous sip from the cup. “At the very least we can safely say you're not human.”  
“No, I'm a mutant.”  
“No, not that either, at least not any mutant on our records,” Zachary continued. “I must admit I found myself quite curious.” He smiled, and added, “Not to mention that ship of yours is nothing like anything I've ever seen.”  
The TARDIS! “What have you done to her?” The Doctor snapped, rising to his feet suddenly. He stumbled, not too much but enough to tell him his sense of balance hadn't fully returned yet. The colonel seemed not even the slightest bit intimidated.  
“Nothing it would seem,” Zachary responded, throwing a glance out the window. “But I suppose you can see for yourself.”  
The Doctor turned and saw that the window gave a commanding view of the city and out into the craterous wastelands beyond the walls. There, a tiny speck in the distance, he saw his TARDIS, the shining blue metal box. Dozens of monstrous bug things swarmed around it, Tyranids. Some large, some small, all of them snarling, biting. Then suddenly he heard a boom, and the shell from some tank burst upon the surface of TARDIS wall. The Doctor jumped at the windowsill, futilely banging his fist against the glass. The smoke cleared, and there was the TARDIS, still standing, unscathed, with a mound of corpses in its wake.  
“We're not sure why they keep swarming around it, but it makes for excellent target practice for our boys,” Zachary commented, happily gripping the fine handle of his cup between thumb and finger. “I must admit I've never seen any technology of Eldar or Emperor stand so well against eighteen rounds from our Basilisks.”  
The Doctor spun about, glaring at Zachary and pointing an accusatory finger out the window. “You stop that, you stop that now!”  
“Why ever would we do that?”  
“That's my ship!”  
“That is a xenos artefact of some description not unlike yourself. Technically now that it's been observed it is now Inquisitorial property. Fortunately for you there are no inquisitors on this base, which unfortunately makes it temporarily the jurisdiction of Commissar Coleman, he's the closest thing to the Emperor's own word that we can muster around here.”  
“What is this, who is this Emperor?! Why am I being held prisoner!”  
“Who is the Emperor? Goodness man there's no part of the galaxy that doesn't know the Emperor, friend or foe.” Zachary scoffs. “I guess it just goes to show that you are neither.”  
“I'd be the last foe you wish to have.” The Doctor replied.  
“Would you now?” Zachary spoke. “Well then I suppose it's a good thing I had this installed.”  
Zachary fumbled about in his pocket, then his hand jerked as he pressed some kind of button. Almost immediately a bolt of electricity arced out of the hard-drive in the back of the Doctor's head, throwing him to the floor.  
“Sleep now, Doctor. When you wake everything will be clear to you.”

 

Warren held his breath as another tank shell landed on the roof of The Doctor's ship. He didn't know what was worse, the fact that what he'd thought was a landing pod was withstanding volley after volley of this, or the rage The Doctor would release when he saw this. Hopefully he never sees this, Warren thought, hopefully they'll never see each other again.  
Almost as soon as the smoke cleared the Tyranids began crawling over to it again. They never got too close, just close enough. Occasionally he saw bursts of ectoplasm and bio-electricity as the big beasts opened fire on the blue box, but nothing ever came of it. It seemed their ammunition just impacted a few metres short of the actual target.  
Warren breathed. His good service break had ended nearly an hour ago, posted back on the front line he felt his heart thudding in his chest. Was this it? Would this be the day when it all fell apart? Maybe it had already fallen. There was a whole city here, beset on all sides. It would easily be possible that one of the other walls had fallen and they hadn't been notified. Heck he wouldn't be surprised if they weren't notified. Keep up the morale the superior officers would say, even while signing their death certificates. He hated the army.  
But he knew why he joined it.  
“Sergeant Hildritch!” He called out.  
“Yes Corporal?” Came the stiff reply.  
“Permission for a short break, I need to take a slash.”  
“Permission denied, just send it over the wall.”  
Warren grimaced. Can't even step aside to go to the loo? What have we been reduced to? Deciding not to put a voice to his silent protest he stepped past the gun emplacement and undid his pants. This was war, he thought to himself. Not the fighting, not the blood, but the waiting, and the stench. After a few moments he finished his 'break' and retook his position. Another tank opened fire, this one veered off course slightly, striking the ground a fair distance away from its target. It still managed to scorch a number of the critters, so it wasn't a wasted shot. Nevertheless he'd seen better that afternoon.  
“How much longer do you think that thing will hold out?” Levin asked.  
“You saw the damage on that thing, barely scratches from starship fire,” Curtis responded. “I'm betting a baneblade wouldn't even leave a scratch.”  
“No chatter, eyes front,” Hildritch ordered. Eyes front, Warren thought, so they couldn't see what was going on behind. Credence for his theory that the wall had already fallen elsewhere building, he shouldered his rifle, shifting to a more comfortable position from which to aim, and resumed waiting. Just another four hours of this and he could go back to bed, get some sleep, and wake up to another eight hour shift in the morning. He hated his work.  
Sometimes he couldn't wait to die.

 

: Carbon scan complete. Memory centres secured. Initiating secondary protocol :  
_What are you doing?_   
: Mental parameters increased, Alpha and Beta waves fluxuating. Deliver neuro-chemical sedative :  
_Mental Parameters? Alpha waves? You're in my head aren't you?_   
: Neuro-chemical sedative ineffective. Begin abort procedure :  
_Get out of my head you piece of machinery!_   
: Abort procedure failed. Re-commencing abort procedure :  
_Get out of my head! Stop fiddling around in there!_   
: Abort procedure failed. Initiating data dump :  
The Doctor screamed.

 

The Doctor groaned, this time from actual pain. He could feel the device that had been jammed into his brain integrating itself with his cortex. It was a roughshod procedure, not nearly as elegant or precise as he'd seen data-jacks before. Primitive technologies. But primitive as it was it had worked. Raw information flooded his brain about the Imperium, the Emperor, ten thousand files of propaganda, and the Tyranids.  
He knew about the Tyranids.  
But more importantly he knew where he was.  
The planet was called Otychus IV, named after some famous figure in their history. It was primarily an agricultural world feeding the denizens of this galactic neighbourhood with minor tank production facilities. The hive cities like this one were sparse across the surface of the globe, serving mostly as places of production and a place to retreat to in time of war. Planetary population three billion. Total armed forces, seventeen million. Local space fleet, less than one thousand warships.  
And their enemy? Numberless.  
Data files streamed into him. Rippers. Termagants. Hormgaunts. Gargyoles. Warriors. Carnifexes. Hive Tyrants. Genestealers. Broodlords. Trygons. Bio-Titans. Fleets. Classified and Top Secret file-stamps covered each one. Some information had been redacted, others had been deliberately and blatantly modified. But it was all there, in some form or another the knowledge was there.  
And so was...  
“There's no way off of this planet,” he remarked. Colonel Zachary grimaced and sipped at his new, steaming cup of tea.  
“No,” came the monosyllabic response.  
“And yet you keep fighting?”  
“Yes,” came the next response.  
“What if I could get you and your people off this planet?”  
“The fleet has been all but destroyed and the Tyranids rule the skies. According to the last report, eight of this world's nineteen hives have fallen, and the creatures have already begun feeding the biomatter off the southern part of the planet. Our only hope now relies on the arrival of the space marines.”  
Space Marines. Superhuman soldiers. Genetically engineered duplicates of their progenitor primarchs, in turn genetically engineered duplicates of the superior Emperor. Sounded like a one way trip to narcissism. Also armed with the most powerful technology ever invented by this universe's human researchers. Data dump after data dump passed through his thoughts. Much of the data was contradictory. He'd have to sort through it later. Right now he just needed to focus.  
“We don't need the Space Marines,” he said. “We just need to get to my ship.”  
Zachary scoffed. “I love your enthusiasm my dear man, but I don't think your vessel alone can save over eight million people.”  
“Trust me,” The Doctor spoke. “I can save you.”  
Zachary smiled. “I admire your gumption Doctor, I really do,” he placed the teacup down. “But even if I believed you it would be of little use. Your ship is out there, and though our boys managed to save you once I doubt they could do it a second time.”  
A file lit up in the back of The Doctor's mind. He read through it quickly. “Perhaps, but you can give me authorisation to plan and enact an escape strategy if it comes into effect.”  
Zachary raised an eyebrow. “How?”  
“Appoint me a temporary commission, I'm a Doctor, once I have a commission I'll have the right and the authority to devise an escape plan and the ability to pull it off if I have to.”  
There was a moment of silence before Zachary's booming laughing filled the office. It rang out into the hall, and any veteran officers listening in would have thought it a strange sound. After several moments, the Doctor, who listened to the roar from the man's gut with antipathy tilted his head, leaned forward and asked.  
“Is something funny?”  
“My my,” Zachary remarked. “My my my.” He walked to a cabinet behind his death, clutching his stomach after his little chuckle. “That calls for something a little harder than tea I imagine.” Plucking the cork out of an aged bottle of brandy, he pulled out two tumblers and put them down on the desk in front of him. “A commission you say? An officer?” He chuckled, hard. “And here Doctor I thought you didn't like the army.”  
“What gave you that idea?”  
Zachary picked up a report from his desk. “Audio log from the room of Corporal Warren complaining about 'a shootable offence, like everything on this damn planet' immediately after discarding Corporal Warren's primer, closely followed by the line 'this is why I hate soldiers'.”  
“Soldiers, not army.”  
“Add to that your general insubordination upon your arrival resulting in physical reprimand by Sergeant Hildritch, well known to be one of our more tolerable non-commisioned officers, and later ejection from a certain institution on floor nine.”  
“Those women should not have been dancing on load-bearing pillars.”  
“Yes, quite,” Zachary said with another chuckle. “Nevertheless if your claimed qualification as a Doctor are true a commission would not be entirely out of place, and it would strengthen my claim to keep you out of Commissar Coleman's hands.”  
: Commissar. Officer of the Departmento Munitorium and Militarum Tempestus. Responsibilities include enforcing discipline and devotion to the Emperor, executing heretics, leading prayers. Equivalent rank to Company Captain :  
“I'll need to be at least equivalent to a captain.”  
Zachary tilted his head forward, arching both eyebrows up with disbelief. “A captain?”  
“Yes, captain.” The Doctor repeated. “I'm a Doctor of both science and medicine, more than enough qualification for high commission, and I come with my own ship.”  
“You do realise captaining your own ship is a requirement for the Imperial Navy not the army?”  
“Do you want my help or not?”  
The Doctor felt the tiny hard drive in the back of his brain beep. He felt it release a wave of relaxant chemicals into his brain. The wrong part of his brain, but still it was a calming. Zachary was studying him intently.  
“Doctor John Smith, I hereby appoint you-”  
“How did you know that name?”  
“It was in the audio logs, Doctor John Smith, I hereby appoint you a commission as my personal chief of medical staff, equivalent to the rank of Captain in the imperial armed forces. You will be assigned to Captain Hadrian's regiment, where you will answer to me and nobody else, there your chief duty will be devising a safe means by which the citizens of this planet can get off world, which will require both my and Captain Hadrian's authorisation to be carried out, is that clear?”  
“Yes colonel.”  
“Good,” he slid over a piece of paper for The Doctor's signature. Signing it quickly, the Doctor rolled it up and placed it inside his suit. The colonel gave him a strange look that made the Doctor nervous. Suspicion? Curiosity? Guessing emotions was never his strong suit, that was all Clara. He didn't have Clara. He needed someone who understood these things. Zachary smiled. “Perhaps I spoke mistakenly earlier, it appears that despite your earlier misgivings, you and the Imperium might be friends after all.”  
The Doctor forced himself to smile. He felt the hard drive in the back of his mind wailing futilely against his thoughts. “Yes, friends,” he said, and clasped his new commanding officer by hand.  
First things first. He needed to find out how their vehicles worked.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, or didn't, please send me your feedback to my email at akhetproduction@gmail.com  
> It's always good to nice to hear feedback.


End file.
